


Murphamy ABC Drabbles

by misha_collins_butt



Series: ABC Drabbles [3]
Category: Murphamy - Fandom, The 100
Genre: Amputation, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Job, Bondage, Comforting Bellamy, Dominant Bellamy, Drinking, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Outer Space, Snogging, The 100 - Freeform, The Ark, Weed, comforting!Murphy, dom!bellamy, dominant Murphy, dub-con, emotional Murphy, probably several I'm forgetting, sub/dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 20,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_collins_butt/pseuds/misha_collins_butt
Summary: Seems that when I start with a particular theme, I tend to stick with it. A lot of these are first-kisses but I tried my best to provide variety.First fic summary: first time frottage in the wilderness between annoying Murphy and annoyed Bellamy.





	1. Avarice

Bellamy screws his eyes shut and tilts his head back beneath the rushing water. The waterfall is small compared to the ones he learned about on the Ark - only about fifteen feet tall and three feet wide. And the water isn't so fast that it's dangerous, but just fast enough that it obscures the view of his naked body from anyone outside. 

 

The warm liquid feels like a hug enveloping him, cleansing him of the past weeks of dirt and mud and piss and sweat and blood and teenage angst. He's so relieved to be rid of it all, even if only for the moment. 

 

And truly, he only does receive a moment of peace before realising he needs to stop getting his hopes up.

 

Within the pool of water that splashes against his knees and no higher, a hand grabs his ankle suddenly. He jumps back, nearly cracking his skull on the jagged inside of the cavern behind the waterfall.

 

Livid, he goes to peer through the curtain of H2O but is preceded by Murphy's smug head popping through the veil and laughing.

 

"What the fuck, dude?!" Bellamy exclaims, covering the distance between them. He's not sure what he wants to do, but whatever it is, he knows it'll be nasty.

 

"That reaction was priceless," Murphy replies casually, leaning back against the edge of the cavern, arms crossed over his, Bellamy now notices, bare chest.

 

Bellamy would be lying if he said he hadn't given much thought to the pale, lithe boy with the vexing attitude. The younger man is somehow intriguing, moderately attractive in a way that he's not generic, like most of the other young men who came along to this planet. He's got this masterful way about him. He tries to act casual, but truthfully, Bellamy can see right through the facade, straight to the restless heart of the delinquent. And truthfully, Murphy's just as scared as the rest of them, but he's also calculating, genius, tactical. He takes low risks for high rewards. And he never does anything without motive.

 

So what's his play here, standing naked in front of an equally naked, seething Bellamy?

 

"Float yourself, John," Bellamy spits, resigning to ignore the shorter man and turn back to his shower.

 

"Oh, come ON, Blake," Murphy mockingly pleads. Bellamy can hear the eye roll in his voice, the way he pushes away from the wall and steps closer. "It's _Earth_ , pal. Let yourself have some damn fun for once."

 

"So, fun, to you," Bellamy rounds on the younger boy again, eyes blank, "is following me into the woods like a creep and fucking with my alone time?"

 

Murphy jumps a brow into his forehead.

 

"That's so not fair," Murphy frowns. The waterfall breaks across his shoulder.

 

Bellamy thinks to himself, _neither_ _is_ _you_ _standing_ _totally_ _naked_ _in_ _front_ _of_ _me_ , _but_ _life's_ _bunk_ _and_ _then_ _you_ _kick_ _it_ ,  _so_ _get_ _out_ _of_ _my_ _damn_ _face._

 

Murphy has the nerve to step closer, right into Bellamy's breathing space, and stare him down as if he isn't five whole inches shorter than Bellamy. 

 

"Bellamy," he starts, feigning seriousness, "I swear to the thirteenth station that if you don't start having fun right now, I'll make you."

 

Bellamy chortles, "Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do, Murphy? Suck my dick? Fuck you."

 

And, oh, how he wishes he hadn't said that. Because in an instant, Murphy is shrugging, falling to his knees with a smirk, and wrapping wet lips around the tip of Bellamy's dick. 

 

Bellamy would deny it, but his member _definitely_  gives an interested twitch at the sensation.

 

He'd also deny that, initially, he lets the thought of Murphy getting him off take over his body.

 

But before he can see where this goes, Bellamy instinctively shoves Murphy back, crying out in protest. 

 

The young man lands on the sloping rock where the small pond of water laps at the inside of the cave, his hands behind him to hold him up, hair falling across his face, and a stupid fucking smirk on his lips.

 

"What the fuck--"

 

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you not just say that I should..." Murphy shakes his head in mock surprise, eyes teasingly wide. "I did tell you I'd make you have fun."

 

"That--that's not how!" Bellamy stammers, a blush creeping up across his whole chest and head. He's definitely had some...less than PG-rated dreams before. "I came out here for some damn privacy. So what the fuck are you doing here?"

 

"Uh, privacy?!" Murphy sputters. "You do realise there's probably at least ten rabbits watching you right now."

 

"Would you happen to be one of them, rodent?" Bellamy snaps back, uncomfortably aware that his dick is still half-cocked, so to speak. 

 

"Awwww, come on, now, Bell," Murphy snarks, letting himself drop back on his elbows and unashamedly examining Bellamy's body. "That's not very nice."

 

Bellamy wants to pummel him, but he collects himself with a deep breath through his nose and instead, offers his hand to help Murphy up.

 

Murphy rolls his eyes, along with his head, at the gesture, smirk ever-present, but deigns to take Bellamy's hand. 

 

As always, Murphy does not do what Bellamy expects. Instead of letting Bellamy pull him up, Murphy yanks him down and Bellamy lands on top of him, chest to chest, smirk to shocked, gaping mouth.

 

For a second, they just stare each other down, silence pulsing against Bellamy's skull and his heart. 

 

Then Murphy whispers, "What are you gonna do, Bell? Hang me?"

 

And against every logical vein he has, Bellamy replies, "I'd rather kiss you right now."

 

That's what it takes to catch Murphy, the great criminal, off guard. 

 

His lips part, and, softly, he asks, "What?"

 

Bellamy sews his eyebrows together, low over the abrupt fury growing in his eyes, and pushes away from Murphy.

 

"For the record, jackass, you were the one who pulled me down here--"

 

"Wait," Murphy lets out quickly, his hand clamping around Bellamy's wrist. Then, the most unexpected thing yet: "I'm sorry."

 

At this, Bellamy softens, realises how harsh he's being. Murphy probably thought this was lighthearted fun, and it's not in the slightest his fault for not understanding that it means more to Bellamy than that. That to Bellamy, this isn't a game. It's not his fault, because Bellamy has refused time and time again, every chance he's gotten, to tell Murphy how he feels. It just never seems like the right time. Nor does it seem whatsoever appropriate for the situation they're in.

 

Bellamy is flung from his thoughts when Murphy adds, even more unexpectedly, "You can, if you want to. Kiss me, I mean."

 

And Bellamy is just completely unsure what to say to that. So instead, he takes Murphy up on the offer. 

 

The younger man seems to become putty in Bellamy's hands as Bellamy leans closer, sliding fingers across Murphy's cheek, manually tilting Murphy's head. And when their lips connect, chapped but wet, even the roaring sound of the rushing water fades away, and Bellamy feels like he's freefalling - not unlike how it felt to be in the dropship on a crash course for Earth. 

 

The kiss is soft, meant only to be expiremental, a scouting mission to see how far he can wade. But Murphy unwittingly sets off a string of thoughts and actions that make it much more than a tentative first kiss. 

 

Murphy's hand comes up gently to cup the back of Bell's head, tugging him closer. The sudden tenderness of Murphy's touch, compared to so many other times they've touched, jolts Bellamy into a sense of urgency. 

 

He lets himself push further into the kiss, prodding Murphy's mouth open with his tongue and rutting a thigh firmly between Murphy's legs. The odd impression of a boner against his bare leg is a new one, but he welcomes it, allows Murphy, who's started moaning into Bell's mouth, to push up against him.

 

Murphy loops both arms around Bellamy's neck, entrusting Bellamy not to drop him to the stone below, so Bellamy slowly lowers them so their chests are flush against each other, nipples hard, breathing wrecked. 

 

Their tongues tango between scraping teeth and the water licks at their crotches, adding ten new dimensions to the way it feels for Bell to have Murphy's dick next to his own.

 

It's nothing fancy, nothing complicated. Just unabashed, dirty, deprived rutting against each other, teeth skimming lips and skin, sharp gasps and sweat and pebbles pressing into Bell's palms and, he's sure, Murphy's back. 

 

Murphy comes with Bell's name on his puffy lips and his head buried in Bellamy's neck and nails buried in Bellamy's shoulders. 

 

And in true Murphy fashion, even though Bellamy tells him it's fine, he's fine, Murphy insists on finishing him off with his mouth.

 

And in true Bellamy fashion, he gives in, weak spot in his heart for the shorter man, especially in this moment when he's being so vulnerable, gentle. 

 

So Bellamy sits back against a smooth part of the cave wall and Murphy crawls up between his legs, hooded eyes never leaving Bell's, and takes Bellamy's full length into his mouth. Murphy's throat fluttering around his tip is what makes him arch his back away from the wall and call out Murphy's name. It doesn't take more than a minute with his cock between Murphy's lips for him to come unraveled, shooting white ropes onto the back of Murphy's tongue. 

 

His spent dick exits that smug mouth with a pop and Murphy wipes his lips off with that signature smirk.

 

Bellamy rolls his eyes, growls, and wrenches Murphy closer by the waist. Their lips collide but with less urgency this time, just languid, satisfied smiles. Murphy's body catches up to his own face as he swings his legs over each of Bell's hips and lazily wraps his arms around Bellamy's shoulders, one hand twisting fingers into Bellamy's hair.

 

The older man sits up a little more, if only to chase Murphy's touch. 

 

The sound of the falling water slapping the cave walls filters back into Bellamy's awareness. Droplets splatter against his hands spread out over John's waist. He can't quite yet bringing himself to care that they are wet, muddy, and sticky. For now, he just wants to enjoy the way Murphy's lips fit with his. 

 

When they finally break apart, Murphy gazes so rapturously into Bell's eyes that the taller man doesn't expect what Murphy says next.

 

"What will the rabbits think?"

 

Bellamy laughs wholeheartedly for the first time in years.


	2. Bribery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy's good at getting what he wants...most of the time

Murphy has always known exactly how to get under that man's skin. He can also, proudly, see right through that thinly veiled excuse of a lie - he sees every mild blush, every frantic blink, every hard swallow, every centimeter of space between them.

 

He sees it because he feels the same way. He's just less idiotic about it.

 

And in truth, Murphy doesn't actually think Bellamy is an idiot. Well, sometimes he does, but it doesn't help how easy Bellamy makes it, how idiotic he can truly be. 

 

Somehow, though, Murphy finds it charming. The bumbling way the man tries to navigate their interactions. It's almost a little funny. Endearing. The stark contrast between how he brazenly leads the other delinquents without fear and the way he stumbles over his words and trips into things when he talks to Murphy.

 

So Murphy isn't really sure how he feels about what he decides to do one night when he isn't getting what he wants. Usually in a situation like this, he'd just roll his eyes and walk away, pretend he wasn't going to sneak back and take what he wanted later on. He always found a way. But this is different, because this is Bell, and he knows _exactly_  which buttons to push, so to speak. Or, in this case, which body parts to touch, which words to use.

 

Bell is on guard duty at a gaping hole in the fence that somehow still hasn't been fixed, though it's been weeks since that enormous mutated bison rammed its way through the electrified wires, head first. It made a nice dinner. The hole is small enough that one guard with a few weapons and two walkies will do. Lucky for Murphy, tonight is Bellamy's shift. And also lucky for Murphy, Bellamy will do anything for him if Murphy tries hard enough.

 

Murphy's been dying to get out of this damn camp unsupervised, to go run through the woods and jump into rivers and scream at the top of his lungs and take his anger out on the lush forest ground. He just can't catch a break. He figures if he can manipulate Bellamy in just the right way, the older man might let him through that damn hole. Hell, he might get to make it through two or three damn holes tonight if Bellamy is difficult about it.

 

Bellamy attempts to hide his excitement when Murphy approaches him alone, hands in pockets, casual strut to his step. He gets right into Bellamy's space, holding a smirk in his lips. He feels his freshly washed hair fall across his forehead - he figured smelling nice couldn't hurt.

 

"Hey there, Captain," Murphy starts, letting his eyes roam over the uniformed silhouette. 

 

Bellamy's not particularly broad by any means, but he's certainly buff. Nice muscle. Good for slamming people into walls. 

 

"Don't even start, Murphy," Bellamy shakes his head from his spot leaning against the shiny wreckage of the Ark. "I know what you're up to. You're not getting through the fence."

 

Murphy holds up his hands in mock innocence, eyebrows jumping. 

 

"I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about, Blake," he replies, using his polite voice. He sounds about four years younger when he does. 

 

"Right," Bellamy sneers, pushing himself off the wall with his shoulder. "I know you, John. I know how you work. You think just because it's me, you can get your way. I'm not stupid."

 

"I never thought you were," Murphy takes a step closer, invading the other man's breathing room. Not to intimidate, but to make unsure. "Well, sometimes I do. But for the most part, I happen to think you're pretty smart. I mean," Murphy chuckles, throwing out his arms to point out the obvious in a grandiose display, "you got a group of 97 other kids to follow you without much questioning. I'd call that smart."

 

"Uh huh," Bellamy sets his jaw, staring Murphy down. 

 

Dark eyes bore holes in his reddening cheeks. He can feel himself faltering under that gaze. 

 

_Get_ _it_ _together,_   _you_ _dumbass._

 

"You wanna know why I really came back here?" Murphy pushes himself in the last few millimetres, dauntingly tracing his finger tips over the outline of Bellamy's waist. He doesn't wait for an answer. Unashamedly surveys the taller man's suited body. "I thought we could get some alone time. I mean," he looks back up into Bellamy's wavering eyes, smiling lightly, "I know this is, like, an important job or whatever. But sometimes I wonder..." 

 

He trails off as he closes the distance between their lips. Bellamy doesn't respond immediately, but he doesn't back away or punch Murphy, either. It takes a few long, exasperating seconds, but Bellamy finally finds his bearings and wraps his strong arms around Murphy's waist. 

 

Murphy hangs his own arms from Bellamy's neck and guides him backward so he's flush against the shiny metal again. When he's got Bellamy trapped between him and the wall, he ghosts a hand down over Bell's arm, across his hip, and then, with a simultaneous bite to the lip, he starts palming at Bellamy's now half-hard cock beneath his uniform.

 

This is where it gets tricky. This could go one of many ways. Worst case scenario, Bellamy shoots him...or tries to hang him again. Best case, Murphy gets laid and he gets to leave the camp. Alone or with Bellamy, at this point he wouldn't mind the company. It's smarting to listen to those self-assured inspirational speeches, but damn, the man can kiss. And from what Murphy can feel over the fabric of his pants, his dick isn't half bad. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to drop to his knees right now.

 

To his great pleasure, Bellamy gasps, pulls him in tighter, and moans into his mouth. 

 

Murphy restrains himself from laughing with pride. Celebrating can wait until later, when he's free from these invisible shackles. 

 

The speaker on Bell's chest rips a line of static through the otherwise quiet air, then a voice, but Murphy just tears the stupid thing from Bell's uniform and chucks it over his shoulder. Whatever it is, they've got plenty of other people who can deal with it, and Bellamy seems to think so, too.

 

With his lips pressed to Bellamy's ear, Murphy bubbles, "I'd love to know how you taste, Captain."

 

A markedly rough grab at the dick under his hand to do the trick. 

 

As soon as he can get Bellamy off, the man will be completely at his command. Though, it's proving a little harder than he thought it would. And, at this point, he can't actually even say he's doing this purely to get through the fence. Especially since he's hard as a rock himself and it's basically just lying through his teeth to say that that's not proof of his attraction.

 

"Would you let me?" He asks, voice molten liquid like honey dripping from a spoon. He would never resign to begging for anything sexual, but if it's what Bellamy wants to hear, he'd make an exception.

 

To his mild disbelief, Bellamy doesn't make a sound, just nods frantically, fingers twisting in Murphy's hair. So Murphy drops down, makes quick work of Bellamy's pants, and has his wet, puffy lips teasing the tip of Bell's dick within seconds. 

 

Being the safety hazard that Bellamy is, Murphy decides to throw one of Bell's legs over his shoulder in case his knees decide to buckle. Which, as he predicted, they do when Murphy slowly, teasingly fits Bell's entire length down his throat. Not having a gag reflex really is good for something, as he's discovered.

 

Bellamy whimpers his moans against his bicep with his arm bent over his face to keep quiet. His other hand is still tangled in Murphy's hair and he's obviously trying hard not to slam Murphy's face down on his dick and hold it there. So Murphy just does it himself, holding the hard cock in his warmth and humming around it, spreading his tongue on the underside. And in seconds flat, Bell is almost collapsing in on himself, spurting thick ropes into Murphy's throat, which are swallowed with sated excitement.

 

Murphy stands once more and licks his way into Bell's mouth, forcing him to taste himself. He tastes good, so Murphy sees it as doing him a favour.

 

After a moment, Bellamy breaks away, though, and utters the words Murphy is loath to hear.

 

"You're still not getting through the fence, Murphy." 

 

And while he's disappointed, he can't say he's unhappy. This is easily just as good as jumping from a cliff into water below. And not nearly as dangerous. 

 

"I can honestly say I'm okay with that," Murphy mumbles, meeting Bellamy's eyes. He feels a peculiar sensation come over him, something he hasn't felt in a very long time. What is it? Yearning? Serenity? ....could it be love? He shakes that thought away. No way does he _love_  Bellamy Blake. That's absurd...right? He catches Bell's concerned gaze. "I have to admit, you were right. I did come here to bribe my way through that hole. But...I don't know..."

 

"Huh," Bell muses tauntingly. His deft fingers tuck Murphy's hair behind his ear. Murphy feels his cheeks get hot. "Never thought I'd live to see the day when John Murphy admitted he was being a jackass."

 

"Can you really even call me that when I just made you come in, like, five minutes?" 

 

"I absolutely can, and I absolutely will," Bellamy laughs, still holding Murphy against him. 

 

And somewhere deep inside, Murphy feels his walls come crumbling down, and a ray of sunshine peek through the cracks.


	3. Cast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Muphy breaks a leg - literally - an unexpected (aka completely expected) companion is there to comfort him

"What do you even have to complain about," Bellamy interrogates. He's perched on the edge of Murphy's makeshift bed, bowl of mystery stew in his hands and a berated look in his eyes. "You get to sit here all day, doing nothing, for the next four months, and all because you made the extravagantly stupid decision to jump off a bridge."

 

Murphy rolls his eyes skyward and flops his head back against the smooth, cool wall of the private room. They couldn't keep him in medical bay in case anyone came in with any life threatening injuries, so they just put him in an old bedroom. 

 

"Yeah, and I'm useless for it," he mutters back, folding his arms over his chest defensively. The only thing worse than being weak is being useless. "Who do you think will be the first left behind the moment some big, dangerous thing comes along?"

 

Bellamy gives him a blank stare. 

 

"I don't know what else I was expecting from you," Bell shakes his head, dipping the spoon back into the cooling bowl. Murphy almost regrets being a dick. Almost. But then, of course, Bellamy has to go and be sentimental. "You're not useless. And I would personally murder someone if they even thought of leaving you here."

 

"Oh, God, this shit again," Murphy lets his eyelids drop shut and doesn't think he'll open them again until Bellamy is gone. He can't look at the man when he starts feeling things. Emotions are hard for Murphy. He can barely parse out his own as it is. But someone else's, much less the likes of Bellamy Blake? Near impossible. "Why do you always do this, Bell? I'm just trying to live my life."

 

Bellamy is so quiet that Murphy actually does open his eyes, thinking the older man left. But Bell is still slumped in the same position, now with his eyes in the stew, pink cheeks, and flaunting that penchant for really getting under Murphy's skin. 

 

Not just his skin, though. Sometimes, Murphy finds himself realising and...possibly actually _enjoying_  that Bellamy has wormed his little buggy way into Murphy's heart. He'd never say that out loud, gunpoint or otherwise.

 

Now he _does_  regret being a dick. Bellamy didn't deserve that, as much as it pains Murphy to admit. At that point, he was just taking out his pent up energy on the selfless man who comes to see him every day. 

 

Softly, he relents, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." He's not sure if that's true, but he feels the remorse creeping through his veins like metal shards. Does he feel guilty because he's selfish, or does he feel guilty because it's Bell? "Please don't leave. I know I'm an asshat. I'm really thankful that you put up with me. Gets boring around here."

 

Bellamy still doesn't speak, but he sets the bowl down on the bedside table and turns inward more to face Murphy directly. 

 

Murphy braces himself. It's not unlike Bell to punch people.

 

"Murphy," Bell finally mumbles. His eyes won't meet Murphy's. He picks at the bleach-stained cotton bedding beneath them. "Do you really think I just say those things to annoy you?" He finally looks up, something like sorrow in his dark irises. "This isn't a game to me, John. You're important. Maybe you don't believe that, but I do. And if not to the original hundred...if even just to me...why can't you be?"

 

Murphy doesn't know what to say to that. Usually, he has some snarky comeback flying out is mouth within milliseconds, but in this moment, he can't find it in him to let slide a cruel comment or snarled remark. In this moment, he finds himself, instead, wrapping his hand around Bellamy's and frowning at the high pitched wailing in his head. His ears are ringing. His entire world has been chopped up beneath him and he's falling with no air to breathe, nothing to break his impact, and nothing to hold onto, except for Bellamy.

 

So rarely does he think about why he's like this. 

 

Hell, he jumped off that bridge without a second thought just to prove himself to some dumbass who made a crack about his sexuality. He doesn't even know what pushed him to care in the first place. He's not necessarily even ashamed of who he likes. He just...maybe he was bored? He doesn't know.

 

He's suddenly very aware that Bellamy has drifted much closer and interwoven their fingers.

 

"Bell," he breathes. The scent of generic shampoo and wood musk fills his nose. Bell is so close now that if Murphy were to touch his cheek, he wouldn't have to reach more than a few inches. 

 

"You're not useless," Bell repeats, eyes pleading and teary. "Please believe me."

 

Murphy can't remember pushing himself forward or pulling Bellamy down on top of him, but both happened in a split second, along with his lips landing on Bell's. 

 

Kissing Bellamy feels soft and warm and inviting and maybe a little bit stupid, but mostly it just feels right. It's loose and languid, like spending a Sunday afternoon in the golden rays of the sun filtering in through a window as you read a book and sip at a cup of tea. It's intense and fiery, too, to match Bellamy's demeanour. And it's a little bit sad, a little bit desperate, in a 'please don't ever leave me alone' sort of way. 

 

"John," Bellamy murmurs between kisses. Murphy reluctantly lets him pull away to speak. "I'm scheduled to work fence duty soon." 

 

Murphy doesn't let the chagrin show in his features. He knew he'd have to let Bellamy leave at some point, just not so soon. 

 

Bellamy appears to mull it over in his head for a moment, eyes skittering across Murphy's face. 

 

Then, with a tiny smile, he says, "I could ask them to switch some people around, though. If you want."

 

Murphy nods, relieved, and tugs Bellamy back down, this time, just to hold him. Because that feels just as right as kissing him.

 

He falls asleep wrapped in Bellamy's arms with his face buried in Bell's shoulder.


	4. Dahlias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comforting!Bellamy and grouchy!Murphy   
> Tooth-rotting fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wouldn't be taking so long if I weren't also watching HIMYM for the fiftieth time while I edit these.
> 
> And, no, I'm not apologising.

"Always such a grump," Bellamy mumbles to himself, braiding another flower into John's brown locks. 

 

Murphy had thrown a tantrum over one of the other teens poking fun at his relationship with Bellamy. She made a snide remark about how Bellamy probably isn't fit to run the camp if he can't even keep it in his pants around the most angry person there.

 

Didn't bother Bellamy one bit. He couldn't care less what they think of him so long as they follow him. John is a different story. He's protective and, unfortunately, gender does not hinder his violent outbursts. He's not afraid to hit a woman, no matter how much younger she is than him and how much weight he has on her. He'd take out a five year old if he was mad enough. Probably has, now that Bell thinks about it.

 

The thought of Murphy punting a toddler across a room is no more shocking than the leaves falling from the trees in autumn. Murphy is markedly passionate and unapologetically possessive and fiercely loyal, which unfortunately makes him also belligerent and crude. 

 

Bellamy wouldn't trade him for the world, though. Especially looking like he does with big, blossoming, purple and orange flowers twisted into his hair. 

 

He pulls the cranky man back towards him so Murphy's back is against his chest, and loops his arms around Murphy's waist, chin on his shoulder.

 

"I love you, y'know," he states gratefully. From the edge of his vision, he catches the small, stubborn smile that grows on Murphy's lips. He presses his own to Murphy's cheek and squeezes him. "For all your faults and strengths, and everything in between. All of it. You're my hero, John. That'll never change."

 

Murphy pretends to huff, but from the way he melts into Bellamy's chest, it's pretty obvious he's content.


	5. Effigy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen,,,,,,  
> If you read this, all of your teeth will rot out and in their place heart emojis will grow and also you will literally die from going "awwwww" becaUSE THIS IS THAT DAMN CUTE

Murphy stands impishly in front of him, hands behind his back, teeth working his lip. He won't meet Bellamy's eyes.

 

Seconds earlier, he'd entered Bellamy's tent with red cheeks and a huffy frown, and handed over a piece of thick paper. He'd asked, 'well? what do you think?' and Bellamy had furrowed his brows and flipped the paper to find an impeccable drawing of himself laughing, eyes shut and head thrown back.

 

Which led to now, as he sits, speechless, on his bed, forgetting how to breathe.

 

Is this really what he looks like to Murphy? So beautiful and...and happy? Is this really what Murphy sees when he looks at him?

 

His eyes flicker up to Murphy's face, where he finds nervous impatience.

 

Finally, he speaks, voice breaking, "Murphy, this is..." He breathes out, words in his heart not translating to his mouth. So he simply shakes his head, sets the drawing aside, stands up, and envelopes the younger man in a hug that he probably couldn't even consider touching his non-Murphy friends with. 

 

Murphy takes a second, but slowly, surely, his arms come to rest on Bellamy's waist.

 

"Thank you," Bellamy mumbles into the crook of Murphy's neck. 

 

And when he pulls away, he surprises both of them by lifting Murphy's chin gently and slotting his lips with the shorter man's, just a chaste, casual kiss, but insurmountable in the steps they've taken in their strange, gravitational relationship. 

 

The hills of Murphy's cheeks set red and pink like the sun and just before he bolts from Bellamy's tent, he mutters, "Shut up, Blake."

 

Bellamy knows it's really just Murphy speak for, 'Love you too, loser.'


	6. Fauna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just more fluff. I guess I was in a mood.

Bellamy has no idea where Murphy could possibly be going for four hours every single day, but it can't possibly be anything good.

 

At least, that's what he thinks...until Murphy gives in and lets Bellamy follow him into the woods, where Murphy introduces him to a deer with five legs and an extra snout. 

 

Moreover, Murphy introduces the deer as Daisy the Defective Deer. 

 

Bellamy isn't sure whether to laugh hysterically or to be concerned for Murphy's well-being.

 

Murphy knowingly rolls his eyes and takes a seat against a tree, where the deer--er...Daisy...curls up beside him. 

 

"I'm not crazy, if that's what you're thinking," he scratches absently at Daisy's forehead, frowning. "I don't expect her to, like, talk back. I just...I just like her. She's like me. Outcast, undesirable. Not sure if she's considered a criminal, but we could have that in common, too."

 

Bellamy raises his brows at that, but still he holds his tongue.

 

He supposes it's not all bad. In fact, it could be much worse. And indeed, it's much less severe than what he thought Murphy could be doing. He isn't sure what that is that he thought, but it certainly wasn't this.

 

So instead of voicing his admittedly misplaced concern, he sits down, too.

 

They stay there for hours, talking back and forth between each other and Daisy. 

 

And at the end of the evening, when it's time for everyone, including Daisy, to go home, Bellamy feels like he finally understands why Murphy is who he is.

 

That's why, as they walk back to camp together, he finds himself twining their fingers together and smiling just a little when Murphy squeezes back happily. 


	7. Gallionic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gallionic  
> [gahl-lee-on-ik]  
> Adjective   
> -marked by indifference, easygoing carelessness, or irresponsibility

"I'm sorry, do you think this is a fucking game?" Bellamy asks, threatening stance even as he leans back on the wall across the room from where Murphy sits cross-legged on his bed, back to the wall as well. "Because, honestly, Murphy, you don't seem to think it's at all important to be careful. You could've gotten yourself AND every single person with you killed."

 

Hours earlier, Murphy had led a small battalion of ne'er d'wells into a cave to literally poke at a sleeping bear, just because the grizzly's fur was yellow and it had three eyes. 

 

What can he say, though? He was curious. 

 

In his defence, he though the bear was dead. No way something like that survives too long in the wild, it's just illogical. A bright yellow bear in a dark green forest where, after the radiation, lizards come in sizes from extra small rock to extra large river and the squirrels have razor sharp talons and thorny bones instead of tails, is not going to have the most efficient survival tactics.

 

So, yes, of course he told everyone about it, and of course he took those who were curious to see it.

 

But, of course, the plan backfired. The bear woke up, furiously attacked them, as evidenced by the four long, deep gashes across Murphy's bare (ha) chest and the several other injuries acquired by the group, and then proceeded to fling one of the kids against the cave wall. 

 

Luckily for Murphy, no one died.

 

Unluckily for Murphy, Bellamy is still somehow making this a huge deal. Could've been worse, and he's acting like Murphy did this especially just to piss him off.

 

"Are you even listening?!" Bellamy strides across the room and yanks Murphy up by the arm. Murphy just shakes his head and smirks bitterly at the wall over Bell's shoulder. Bell holds him there, searching for any semblance of concern at all, and when he obviously finds none, his face turns dark. He spins them around shoves Murphy, sending him stumbling backward. "You don't give a shit about ANYTHING, do you?!" He screams, advancing on Murphy again. "Huh?!" Another shove. When Murphy solicits no reaction Bellamy just gets angrier and louder. Spit flies as yells, face red, "WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING CARE, HUH?! GET ANGRY, MURPHY! FEEL _SOMETHING_! SCREAM AT ME!" Shoves him back again. Still, Murphy refuses to react, though he feels himself losing his grip. "COME ON, MURPHY. HIT ME! FEEL SOMETHING! FUCKING ANYTHING, _PLEASE_!" Another shove and now his back is against the wall and he's losing breathing room along with his hold on his straining reality. 

 

Tears start to meander down Bellamy's cheeks as he tries to shove Murphy back again, to no avail, and to which Murphy mutters, "Enough, quit it."

 

He doesn't.

 

"Quit it, Bell, seriously."

 

Bellamy persists, obviously seeing that it's getting a rise out of Murphy. 

 

Finally, Murphy snaps. Shoves the older man back and screams, "FUCK YOU, BELL! ALRIGHT, FUCK YOU!" He gets in Bellamy's face, fisted knuckles against Bell's sternum. "I DO CARE, YOU BASTARD, SO JUST FUCKING QUIT IT--"

 

"THEN _PROVE_  IT."

 

The silence of the night outside seeps beneath the cracks in the walls, slithering up each of their bodies to wrap tightly around their throats, choking their thoughts away. 

 

Murphy feels himself slipping, feels the already loose hold he had on reality being chiseled away by the lies he's told himself.

 

The stars outside his window pause on their weary way and grow bright and infuriated by the tension band between he and Bell that is thisclose to snapping. The earth comes skidding to a halt and every sound in the universe along with it. Even Murphy's rough breathing falls away from him as his heart pounds frantically in his ears. For a very, very long moment, that's the only thing he can hear - the roaring of his blood, bright copper edged with seething white, rushing from his heart to his head and back again.

 

And then he sobs, break in his voice, "I care about _you_ , asshole." 

 

And he'd murder Bellamy for telling anyone, but he lets the tears roll from eyes as his fisted hand stabs weakly, defeatedly against Bellamy's chest and he drops his forehead against Bell's shoulder.

 

The taller man slides a hand around Murphy's wrist, catching his fist there. 

 

Softly, from above, Bellamy pleads, "Prove it."

 

And for a split second, Murphy is hitting terminal velocity, body limp, knocked unconscious by the lack of oxygen, and he's set aflame by the friction of his mass being sucked to the earth's gravitational centre, tearing through the atmosphere.

 

Then he's slamming his lips into Bellamy's and walking them back to the bed and falling down into it with Bell's arms drawn securely around his waist, and they roll over and Murphy can't remember where he ends and Bell begins, which way is up and which is down, or even, in one moment, his own name. 

 

All he knows is the fiery feeling of Bell's tongue and his sliding together in a desperate, beseeching, delirious attempt to find some semblance of peace within each other's touch. All he knows is the way that Bellamy writhes against him, pressing their hips together, moving and breathing and thinking in sync, every noise a marvelous harmony to their hearts beating and the earth grinding against the background of space. 

 

And all he knows is that this is all he wants, always, forever. 


	8. Hermetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermetic  
> [her-med-ik]  
> Adjective  
> -isolated or protected from outside influences; of or pertaining to total isolation

Bellamy rounds the entryway to their old campsite. The dropship still stands there, as always, cool metal dull and rusted, chassis cracked and dented from stray bullets. 

 

He looks back over his shoulder and scans the woods one last time to make sure he isn't being followed.

 

Not out of embarrassment or shame. Just out of want for privacy. This is supposed to be an escape for him. For both of them.

 

Quietly, he sneaks up the dropship ramp, boots barely clanging against the metal in the dead of night. He slips past the heavy curtains.

 

And there he is. Murphy. Slumped over an old book, glasses on, fingers absently tracing his chin and tapping his lips, candles throwing shadows and whipping flames to set his face aglow. The softness of him in this setting, the serenity, the ethereal edges of his figure, is a stunning contrast to the Murphy he feigns when he's not alone. It would be jarring to Bellamy if not for the fact that they'd been secretly dating for several months.

 

This bewitching scene, almost morose in its capacity to fling Bellamy's heart into his mouth, is one he stumbles upon frequently - when walking into Murphy's room unannounced, most often when meeting him here, sometimes when finding him curled up beneath a tree in the forest on a bright day when the dust and pollen floats aimlessly through the molasses rays of sun beaming past the tree tops.

 

And even if it was a little shocking in the beginning, to see him in such a delicate way, no defences up, no tricks or smirks, just Murphy in his pure form, well, it was still comforting, at least. It was, still is, one of Bellamy's favourite things in the whole universe, to see his boyfriend just like this, relaxed, lost in thought, dreamy-eyed and rid of all the troubles the earth and Ark alike have brought him.

 

Bellamy doesn't make a sound as he sidles up to Murphy, leans down behind him, and slides his arms around Murph's shoulders. 

 

"Which one is that?" He hums in Murphy's ear, content to just watch him turn the pages.

 

"The Blazing World," Murphy mumbles, fingering the corner of his mouth. 

 

Bellamy chuckles and kisses the back corner of Murphy's jaw. 

 

"Never knew you were such a feminist, John," he plays his lips against the edge of Murphy's ear, just enough to give the younger man visible goosebumps.

 

"You should try it sometime," Murphy smirks lovingly, finishes his chapter, folds the corner of the page, and shuts the book, then twists his head back to smile mischievously at Bell, bringing his hand up to the back of the older man's head. "You're sort of harsh, wouldn't you say?"

 

"You can't pretend you don't like when I'm mean to you, John," Bellamy smiles back and attaches his lips momentarily with Murphy's. Just a taunting peck. "You seem like you're in more of a cuddly mood tonight."

 

"Hmmm," Murphy sighs, dropping his head back against Bell's shoulder, sewing his eyes shut, and raptly combing his fingers through Bell's curls. "I'm just exhausted. It was a slow day."

 

"Got it," Bell presses another kiss to Murphy's jaw, watching his face relax, "just a therapeutic blowjob."

 

Murphy laughs with his whole body and rolls his head back and forth over Bellamy's shoulder.

 

"Sure, Bell," he replies, candlelight painting roses on his cheek. "As long as I get to be the little spoon."

 

Bellamy grins. 

 

Murphy is always the little spoon.


	9. Igneous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominant Bellamy 😌 and role playing. Because we love rough sex

Murphy has never been so hot in his entire life, and he once spent a month in a sweltering cave being tortured by grounders.

 

To make matters worse, almost every single other delinquent has come to him complaining about it, as if he can do jackshit about the fucking weather. 

 

Finally he decides to bother Bellamy about it because, though Bellamy told everyone he needed some time to himself (which somehow put Murphy in charge, in the eyes of the rest of the camp), Murphy is determined to not be responsible for shit he can do nothing to help. Which is most things. And admittedly, often because he doesn't want to, plain and simple.

 

So, when he barges in through the tent flaps, he's both caught off guard and mildly unsurprised, and maybe even a little bit excited, to find that Bellamy is in nothing but his boxer briefs, faced away with a knife and a rag in his hands.

 

It goes a little something like:

 

"Hey, Bell, a bunch of the campers--oh..."

 

And then it's silent for what seems like an eternity as Bellamy turns around with apparent irritation set in his jaw.

 

"Have you never heard of knocking, Murphy?" He squints and brings his brows down low in annoyance. 

 

Murphy somehow doesn't miss a beat before barking back, "Number one...Blake...it's a tent. It doesn't _have_ anything to knock on. Secondly..." then he thinks twice, shakes his head, and smirks as he looks to his feet planted firmly in the dirt. "Nope, not even gonna go there."

 

He knows where his thoughts have been when Bellamy comes to mind. They're nothing that the older man would take kindly to. And, knowing him, Murphy might even get publicly hanged again for even implying anything.

 

But Bellamy drops the items in his hands onto the table, pivots on his heel, and strides across the already uncomfortable space between them to crowd Bellamy back against the wall. 

 

"I'm sorry, am I distracting you?" Bellamy rumbles lowly, obviously attempting to get a rise out of Murphy. 

 

The younger boy just looks away, over Bellamy's shoulder, and slides his lower jaw to the side, huffing out a bored sigh.

 

"What happens if I say yes?" He avoids answering. But honestly, what he just asked may have been worse than just outright saying yes. 'Yes' is simple and straightforward, with only one meaning. 'What happens' is intentionally provocative. But, hey, Murphy's never been one to give up promiscuity in the face of rage.

 

Bellamy's nostrils flare, hands fist, but the blow never lands. 

 

"You really stupid enough to find out?" Bell asks softly, the sudden change in his voice in comparison to his body catching Murphy's eyes. 

 

They stare each other down, neither one relenting to back away or make a move first. For the first time in a while, Murphy isn't really sure what to do or say. It almost seems like...maybe, Bellamy is egging him on. 

 

Which is a harsh disparity from just seconds ago when he was telling Murphy he needs to knock on something that nobody could technically knock on.

 

"And if I am?" He challenges, tension of his proximity to Bellamy suddenly melting away.

 

"What was your number two, John?"

 

Murphy hesitates, still so unsure about the outcome. He'd rather not get beat up by Bellamy again, at least, not if it's non-sexual. And, God, right now how he'd love for Bellamy to take him by the throat and slam him into the bed.

 

He swallows hard, then replies with anxiety blooming in his stomach, "You should put on some clothes before I tackle your stupid face."

 

Bellamy's 'stupid face' remains blank, reaction inaccessible as he examines Murphy's stance. 

 

Then, without warning, Bell's hand shoots up and grabs Murphy roughly by the jaw and the other hand is on his waist, yanking him closer, and Bellamy Blake is prodding Murphy's mouth open with his tongue and Murphy feels his pants tighten at his crotch and he's not quite sure what to do with his own hands but he can't find it in himself to care much.

 

"How are you still in your clothes," Bellamy breathes out harshly against Murphy's ear as he shoves his hands under the hem of Murphy's shirt. 

 

The younger man doesn't hesitate to comply, lifting his arms and letting Bellamy pull the fabric off and discard of it in the corner. Then hands are flying to the buttons of his pants and Bellamy is chuckling evilly at the tented zipper. 

 

Murphy stumbles out of his pants, throwing away his shoes and socks with them, and then they're kissing again, rough and sloppy and wet, and Bellamy leads them backwards to the bed, where he shoves Murphy down so the young man is splayed across its thin width with legs spread. Bellamy wastes no time crawling up between Murphy's thighs and mouthing at the erection beneath the cotton of his underwear.

 

"I'm gonna bring you right to the edge, John, and when you're begging for me to let you cum, I'm gonna stop and I'm gonna use you like the mindless toy you are," Bellamy murmurs as he slithers upward over Murphy's body to pin his arms above his head. 

 

Murphy can't stop his back from arching off the bed, both for some relief from the sticky humidity inside the tent and because he's never felt more aroused than right at this moment with Bellamy holding him down and playing him like a drum.

 

Bellamy takes Murphy's aching hard-on out and plunges it into his mouth, sucking with such fervor and overwhelming virility that he finds himself on the edge within seconds, trying and wrecklessly, unapologetically failing to keep himself quiet. 

 

As he wheezes out obscenities, the pressure of Bellamy's body between his legs disappears and then turns up again quickly, this time on his chest where Bellamy straddles him and forces his mouth open with his cock.

 

Murphy eagerly allows Bell to dig a hand irately into his hair and fuck his face. He feels the end of Bell's dick halfway down his throat and gags, but continues breathing and flickers his eyes up to Bellamy's face, which is drenched in dark lust.

 

Murphy tries to look away when Bell catches him watching, but Bellamy smacks his cheek hard enough to leave it tingling and tells Murphy that he wants him to watch as Bell gets off. 

 

He greedily obeys, soaking in every order and scrape of Bell's dick against the back of his throat.

 

Soon enough - too soon - Bellamy is releasing himself deep in Murphy's esophagus and breathing out strings of curse words and Murphy thinks he catches his name in there a few times.

 

Bellamy climbs off him, sated and limp, and Murphy sputters our a cough or two, throat raw. Bellamy hands him a canteen of water. He drinks it down hungrily. Almost chokes when Bell's hand finds his cock and resumes jerking him off.

 

Bell takes the canteen back, sets it on the side table, and returns his attention to Murphy, who he whispers dirty thoughts to as he squeezes a little harder than is generally pleasurable but to Murphy, it feels amazing. 

 

His orgasm tenses every muscle in his body, including his airways, and he gasps in gulps of air when he's finished spewing white ropes across his chest.

 

Bellamy offers his sticky hand and Murphy licks it off with ease. 

 

And all too soon, it's over, and Bell is nuzzling his face into Murphy's neck, whispering, "Next time, I get to be the sub."

 

Murphy can't complain. His boyfriend is pretty cute, after all.

 

"Fine," Murphy replies and plants a firm kiss to the top of Bellamy's head where his sweaty curls lay nearly flat. "But you're on laundry duty for a week."

 

"Deal," Bellamy chuckles. 

 

Murphy couldn't ask for a better game to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're confused as to why this seemed to start out as though Murphy was genuinely thinking all those things, let me explain:
> 
> Those of us in the roleplaying community recognise the importance of fully immersing oneself in the role. This means completely getting in the mindset of who you are. In this scene, they're roleplaying first time rough sex. Murphy's thoughts are intentional, meant to be part of his role. Hope that makes sense to you!


	10. Jalapeño

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pranks and generally goofy fluff

As much as people desperately want to see Bell as this brave leader and selfless saviour, Murphy knows better. He _should_ know better, especially since he's been dating the juvenile little shit for almost a year. 

 

Nobody will be convinced of Bellamy's childish games, and not for lack of trying on Murphy's part. Without letting people in on the fact that they're an item, he's definitely regaled stories of Bellamy's many pranks, to no avail. At this point, he doesn't think it's even worth it to try persuading them anymore. 

 

Nobody gets to decide who they fall in love with, and unfortunately for Murphy, he was given an idiotic delinquent with a penchant for doing things like, for example, this morning when Bellamy tricked him into eating probably the spiciest plant he has ever put in his mouth.

 

Murphy, being the logical one, told Bellamy that he could've unwittingly poisoned Murphy all because of his bad attitude. But, of course, Bellamy insisted he knew all along what it was and that it was safe. Murphy still doesn't believe that, even hours later.

 

And, of course, when Murphy stormily told Bell to go float himself, the only reaction he elicited was Bellamy pulling him in and kissing the pout out of his lips.

 

He can't truly stay mad when Bellamy does that, and the older man damn well knows it and almost always uses it to his advantage.

 

But even despite it all, maybe even _for_  it all, Murphy can't help but find himself falling in love with the man over and over again, every single day.


	11. Kibe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kibe  
> [ky-b]  
> Noun  
> -a dry or damaged patch of human skin

You know that spot on your back that you just can't reach? At least if you aren't hypermobile. 

 

Well that's where Murphy scraped up his back when he skidded across old cement while fighting a reaper after escaping the grounders that tortured him. 

 

Just his misfortune, too. Somehow, he's always the unluckiest person. Anything else would've concerned him.

 

The scrape stings - it's one of those scrapes that's deep enough to leave a light scar, but shallow enough that it doesn't warrant pain meds. One of those scrapes where every pulse of blood shoots a smarting tingle across his shoulders. 

 

Clarke gave him some weird cream that he's meant to put on it, but how does she expect him to reach? 

 

And just his misfortune, as he's standing, shirtless, in front of the mirror trying desperately without success to smear the ointment on his wound, Bellamy Blake walks in without knocking. 

 

Apparently manners aren't taught to people with siblings. 

 

"The fuck do you want," Murphy mutters, only briefly meeting Bellamy's eyes in the mirror. He positions his hand over the scrape, sure this time that he's got it, but when he bends his arm further to put the stuff on, he gets just above it. He growls and nearly breaks the mirror, but thinks better of it. The mirror did nothing wrong. It's his own fault for having ridiculously short arms and no flexibility whatsoever. Should've paid more attention in gym class. "Do I look like I have time to deal with you?"

 

"Considering you poisoned the entire camp with an unknown disease and came back in the first place after I explicitly told you I would kill you if you did, I think you owe me one," Bellamy sneers, crossing his arms over his chest. Then his expression softens and he adds, "I'll be quick. And I promise to be nice."

 

Murphy finally turns his head to look at Bellamy directly. Sighs and wipes the ointment off on his pants.

 

"What is it?" He asks defeatedly.

 

"I need someone who knows the area to come with me to set traps around the camp, at least for the time being," Bellamy replies frugally, obviously less than keen on the idea that he would be alone in the woods with Murphy and a bunch of weapons. "You're also least likely to annoy me with small talk."

 

"Well, Blake, I'm glad my services are so valuable to the survival of the rest of these idiots," Murphy smirks and crosses his arms, mimicking Bellamy, and leans back momentarily before being painfully reminded of his wound and hissing as he pushes back up. "Means I won't be so easy to get rid of this time," he adds with a grunt.

 

Bellamy's face bends in concern and Murphy almost feels something like embarrassment but is quick to roll his eyes.

 

"You could ask for some help, you know," Bellamy states plainly, as if Murphy hadn't thought of that. 

 

"Oh, trust me, I need all kinds of help," Murphy snarls, making his way to his bed to grab his shirt. "It's not worth it. I was tortured by grounders, I can deal with a little scrape."

 

Bellamy floats across the distance between them and rests his fingers on Murphy's back, making the shorter man jump and gasp. The leader's hands are chilled and Murphy is loath to admit that it feels nice on the sore patch of skin.

 

"You can't reach this," Bellamy muses, seemingly to himself. "Let me help."

 

"Why?"

 

A string of silence being sewn into the soft quilt heating the air between them seems to come unraveled and wrap itself around each of them, tugging Murphy not of his own accord into Bellamy's touch.

 

"Why not?" Bellamy answers with a question. A sentiment, admittedly, that Murphy can't really argue with.

 

"Whatever, fine," Murphy responds, discarding his shirt back on the bed. He snatches the tube of cream from the bedside table and hands it over, careful not to brush fingers with the older man. Out of fear for what he feels? Annoyance? He can't tell. "Her direct orders were, 'be generous', whatever that means in Clarke language," he adds, mocking the blonde woman's demeanour. She's always so confident and perky, he doesn't understand how. And she _feels_  so much. He doesn't think he's ever felt as many emotions at once as Clarke has. "It's supposed to last a week, I guess."

 

Bellamy only nods and turns Murphy around by the shoulder.

 

As the older man applies the soothing balm to the itchy, scabbing injury with shockingly gentle fingers, he mumbles, "This is pretty bad. I'm sorry."

 

Murphy swallows, arms protectively hugged to his chest, letting the feeling of cool relief spread across his spine. 

 

It takes a moment, but he eventually asks, "Sorry for what?"

 

"All of this, I guess," Bellamy whispers, a solemn sigh seeping into his voice. "For not trusting you, for letting those reapers attack you outside the wall, for getting tortured by the grounders..." He trails off and his hand pauses on Murphy's back, the palm dropping into his shoulder blade with caution. "For banishing you in the first place. None of this would've happened if I hadn't tried to pin Wells's death on you. If I'd just listened to you."

 

Murphy gulps down air, a tear springing to his eye as he remembers the feeling of not being able to take in oxygen. In a dark way, he'd liked it. And he can't help but imagine that if it had been just him and Bellamy, it would've been rather enjoyable. He's fucked up like that. 

 

The warmth of Bellamy's fingers pressing into his shoulder makes him take in a sharp breath. He squirms imperceptibly, not wanting the taller man to take the touch away, but not really sure what to do with himself.

 

"It's fine, I guess," Murphy murmurs, dropping his head. "I can't say you didn't have reasonable suspicions. I'm not exactly the trustworthy type of guy."

 

Murphy almost falls over when Bellamy replies in the softest, most nerve-wracking voice he's ever heard, "I trust you."

 

It sets his skin ablaze. 

 

Bellamy Blake, the harrowing leader of ground zero, trusts one of the most hated criminals in the vicinity. And for all it's worth, it makes Murphy's heart flutter. Well, it certainly doesn't help that Bellamy's hand is brushing upward ever so lightly to Murphy's neck.

 

The younger boy turns his head back to face Bellamy over his shoulder. A fire that's been kindling for months bursts into flames inside his belly. His heart does acrobatic flips beneath his sternum.

 

Bellamy is close. Very close. Like, closer than a friend-slash-enemy should be. Like, so close that Murphy can feel Bell's breath rolling across his cheek. 

 

"You could be so much more than just a felon, John," Bellamy whispers, eyes unapologetically glued to Murphy's parting lips. "You're so much more than you're giving yourself credit for."

 

Murphy's heartbeat stammers like a rock skipping on water. And when Bell tilts his head a little further and pushes their lips together, Murphy doesn't pull away. He lets himself melt into the touch, lets Bellamy guide his body and turn him around, lets strong arms slip around his waist, lets himself be backed up against the wall with Bell's hand beside his head.

 

And all the while, the other hand remains firmly, assuringly, pressed to his back.


	12. Lordosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lordosis  
> [lor-doe-sis]  
> Noun  
> -the convex curvature of the lumbar region of the spine

"That feels nice," Bellamy's sleep-addled voice drifts lazily over his shoulder, to where Murphy lies in the bed beside him. 

 

The younger man feathers his finger up and down the elegant curve in Bellamy's lower back. Traces up and over the knobs in the upper part of his spine, pausing to admire the structure of Bellamy's broad shoulders. Back down, a ghost dipping into the valley between Bell's ribs and tailbone.

 

A brief, gentle smile graces Murphy's lips. 

 

He can never get over the way his boyfriend is shaped. Each bone and disc and vertebrae and space in between is so perfectly aligned to Bellamy's energy. The heat he gives off. 

 

As if the stars all came together and personally sacrificed themselves to form this one human being, so minuscule in the grand scale.

 

And every night when they lay together, if Bellamy's back is turned to him, Murphy will trace that graceful spine and watch the goosebumps form on Bell's neck.

 

And every time, he will thank the stars for making him so damn lucky.


	13. Mainour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mainour  
> [main-oor]  
> Noun  
> -stolen object found in the thief's possession

Once a thief, always a thief. 

 

Bellamy should've known better, should've known not to trust Murphy with the task of taking care of what little remnants the community has left of their time in space.

 

The garden, filled with flowers and plants and blooming fruits and vegetables all designed to grow in low gravity and minimal sunlight. Bellamy's always had a special place in his heart for the Tiger's Moon orchids, ethereal in their dewy white colour and a scent as gentle as snow falling softly at midnight. It reminds him of home. Of the Ark. Of space. 

 

So when one goes missing on Murphy's watch, he absolutely notices. 

 

In the crowded garden centre, he stops Murphy by putting a hand out and pinning the younger boy against the wall purely with his height and looming dominance. 

 

When Murphy denies having stolen anything, Bellamy snatches the flower, secure in a tiny pot, out of Murphy's hood. Smart place to hide it if he were trying to hide it from anyone less smart than Bellamy.

 

"Didn't steal anything, huh?" Bellamy remarks blankly, holding the flora up between their faces. Then he barks an order for everyone to leave. If he's going to teach Murphy a lesson, it won't be a kind one. Once everyone has flooded out, Bellamy asks coldly, "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Murphy? This is protected remains. You know damn well what the repercussions would be if you got caught with this--look at me," he grabs Murphy by the jaw and forces him to pay attention. "If you were caught by _anyone_  but me, you would be in a much more painful situation right now."

 

Murphy's throat bobs and his eyes stay lowered. He's cowering. Bellamy vaguely feels the pang of regret. He lets himself soften and releases Murphy's face.

 

"Who was it for?" He asks gently, knowingly. Murphy's eyes switch quickly up to him in what seems like mild surprise that Bellamy figured it out. "Come on, don't be stupid. I know you. You wouldn't do something like this without a motive. And since you're not exactly a flower expert, I assume someone's caught your eye?"

 

Murphy squirms, gulps, looks anywhere but at Bellamy.

 

Then mutters, "If I told you, you would punch me." When Bellamy raises a brow and frowns, Murphy quickly adds, "Don't worry, _Captain_ , it's not your precious sister."

 

"Then why would I have any reason to punch you?" Bellamy inquires, genuinely curious. Murphy's a bit of an enigma to him, even after all this time.

 

Silently, the shorter man plucks the orchid from where it dangles in Bellamy's hand at his side. Then the flower is being pushed into Bell's face and Murphy's cheeks are blooming bright red. 

 

He still doesn't meet eyes with Bellamy, whose lips peel apart in soft surprise. 

 

Without him telling it to, Bellamy's body moves him closer to Murphy, dragging his face within centimetres of his.

 

Murphy's tiny gasp, and then a noise Bellamy can only describe as akin to a whimper, is what forces Bell to pause.

 

"What are you doing?" Murphy whispers, piercing grey eyes finally melding with Bellamy's hazel ones. 

 

"I'm gonna kiss you," the words tumble from Bellamy's mouth without his permission. But the rapid blink of shock and excitement that flutters through Murphy's lashes is enough for Bellamy to let himself ask, "Is that okay with you?"

 

Murphy's only response is a quick, eager nod, and then Bellamy is dipping his head and slotting his lips with the younger man's and pushing him ever further into the wall with an index finger and thumb holding Murphy's chin, until they're pressed flush against each other, with John's arms sliding greedily up to Bell's neck to pull him impossibly closer and Bell's hand slipping from the wall and coming down to cradle the back of Murphy's head. They breathe into each other, air made of stars and deep purple swirls and ancient craters.

 

And Murphy pants into Bell's mouth, mapping his teeth with his tongue, hanging from Bell's shoulders by the arms and digging quarter-moon graves into Bellamy's skin.

 

So instead of letting him beg, because lord knows Bellamy has a soft spot for the younger boy, Bell grabs Murphy beneath each thigh and lifts him up and Murphy so readily wraps his legs around Bell's hips, it's almost as if they're two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit perfectly together, to move in tandem and share each thought. 

 

And as black holes collide in distant galaxies and super novas ring out their hallowed hymns, they become lost in each other's cosmic touch, and Murphy steals Bellamy's heart.

 

Once a thief, always a thief.


	14. Nyctanthous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyctanthous  
> [nik-tan-thus]  
> Adjective  
> -to flower or bloom during night

Murphy had slipped away sometime in the last half hour without Bellamy noticing. To be fair, before coming to the ground, bonfires like this were something he'd never experienced, so it was easy for Bellamy to get distracted by the swirling flames.

 

Now he's crunching through the dark woods, only clear, bright moonlight to guide him as the songs of beetles and grasshoppers ring in his ears. 

 

He needs some time to himself, and maybe he'll find John in the process, but that's not too important. If the delinquent has decided to run off somewhere, that's not much of his problem. In fact, it may be a blessing to the camp. Though, he can't say he wouldn't miss Murphy, even just a little. 

 

From ahead, the soft trickle of slow moving water sounds out akin to a choir. There's a clearing - large boulders making up the shore of a wide river. The moonlight splashes into the space like lazy words dripping from the mouths of lovers on a sleepy morning. 

 

He approaches the treeline, closes his eyes, and breathes in deeply, lifting his face to the moon. It almost feels warm, just like the sunshine. 

 

Then he notices a human-like form sprawled out on one of the boulders a few yards away. Longish hair, lanky legs crossed over each other, breathing relaxed. Face illuminated by sodium scintillance. Murphy.

 

Taking a step towards the other boy, Bellamy snaps a branch on the ground. John's reaction is uncannily quick. In one swift motion, he sits up, slips his knife out, and twists around to defend himself.

 

Bellamy holds up his hands in innocence.

 

"Just me," he assures, waiting for Murphy to put the knife away.

 

John swallows, lowering his eyes and finally replacing the knife to its rightful place at his hip. 

 

Bellamy floats over to him, agile as the water below. Lowers himself down next to Murphy, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. 

 

As he watches the moon sailing across the magnificent, star-speckled sky, Bellamy asks, "What are you doing all the way out here? We're a mile from camp."

 

In the corner of his vision, Murphy shrugs, hands repositioned behind his head and eyes closed once again. 

 

"Guess I'm just a night person," he replies without the quotidian malice that Bellamy has become so accustomed to. 

 

It almost takes him off guard.

 

Not as much, though, as the way Murphy looks soaked in the luminous beige drifting down to them from the heavens. He looks almost...soft. Pure. Angelic. Like if Bellamy touched him, the glowing gold aura surrounding Murphy's body might be interrupted by his unlawful skin. 

 

"You ran off before giving me an answer," Bellamy accuses, blinking back to the shimmering stream. His breath is shallow and stuttering with the waves that chop the water. 

 

After a heart-wrenching silence, John replies, matter-of-factly, "I was scared." His eyes flutter open and he surveys the pinpricked sky. "I know what I feel, and I don't tell anybody. I thought, somehow...you knew. You were mocking me. My first defence is always to run away. Preserve myself." Murphy's brilliant grey eyes meet Bell's. The older man's breath catches. "You scared me."

 

Bellamy isn't sure what to say, opts, initially, to not say anything at all in favour of just sharing eye contact with John. 

 

But the dry silence cloaking his shoulders becomes weighted, as though the universe has split into two and taken a seat on either side. 

 

"Do you know the answer now?" Bellamy's voice blisters out against the flawless space between them. He's scared, too.

 

Murphy thinks for a second. Looks back up at Bellamy. Nods. 

 

"Yes, you know the answer, or yes _is_  your answer?" Bellamy tries. He wants to be sure. Doesn't want to take a stupid risk with no reward. 

 

Murphy rolls his eyes, pushes himself up so his face is leveled with Bell's and, when he's inches from the other man, John whispers, eyes on Bell's lips, "Just shut up and do it."

 

Bellamy offers a crooked smile. Lifts his fingers tenderly to Murphy's jaw. Head tilt, ragged breath, hesitate. Chapped lips pressing together and hands sliding back to tangle in straight, brown hair. 

 

The moon pauses for a moment. 

 

Its craters gasp in unison as everything blooms.


	15. Outrecuidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outrecuidance  
> [ou-tri-cue-dunce]  
> Noun  
> -extreme self-conceit; exuberantly arrogant or undeservedly confident

"You're such an arrogant ass, Murphy, you'd try to convince a tree that it's a fish," Bellamy spits. He doesn't look up from the knife he's cleaning. 

 

Murphy can't help but chuckle smugly. Shake his head.

 

"You know what I think, Bell?" He doesn't wait for Bellamy to respond. "I think you're just projecting."

 

That stops Bellamy in his tracks. Oops. Murphy really needs to start watching his big fucking mouth around this guy. 

 

Bell turns halfway around to shoot a death glare at Murphy. 

 

"Prove it," is all he says, finality as if Murphy can't. 

 

Murphy likes a challenge. And this one is too easy.

 

He pushes off from the frame of Bellamy's bedroom door and shuffles further into the room with his head down, twisting his lips.

 

"Alright," he accepts, flopping his head back on his neck to get the hair out of his face. Bellamy is still watching him priggishly. "Two nights ago, when you got really drunk on moonshine and kissed me because you were so sure I told you to."

 

Bellamy blanches, rosy cheeks turning white as the cloudy sky outside. He turns back around.

 

Then, gruffly, he mutters, "Yeah, well, you kissed me back."

 

Murphy can't deny that. He did kiss back. And he doesn't have the excuse of having been drunk. He was solidly sober, minding his own business, sitting in a window sill in some random hallway reading an old book, and Bellamy had come out of nowhere and sat on top of him and shoved his tongue into   Murphy's throat. And Murphy had fully enjoyed it. 

 

"Only because you were so sure," Murphy finally hisses back. Which, of course, garners him another dirty look.

 

"Yeah, Murphy. I was drunk. Booze tends to do that," Bell explains as if Murphy is a child.

 

"Ooohh, really," Murphy chortles, nodding sarcastically. "Mkay." He smiles tightly, squinting. "I'm sure I can prove otherwise."

 

"Uh huh," Bellamy turns back to his knife again and doubtfully asks, "How so?"

 

Murphy is quiet for a very long, very anxious second. Then he whispers, unsure if Bell can even hear him, "Do you still wanna kiss me right now?"

 

He's not certain what he expected out of that. But Bellamy's whole body pauses, even his breathing, and he provides no answer save for the obvious. 

 

Murphy strides over, uncrossing his arms. Reaches out and touches Bell's back. It's warm, inviting. He sidles around just enough to press his fingers to Bell's chin and lift the taller man's face. And Bellamy doesn't protest, even relaxes into the touch. 

 

Then, Murphy kisses him, this time gently, slowly, with no alcohol coursing through Bell's blood and more assurance than Murphy has ever felt. 

 

When they pull back, just barely, faces still tilted together, Murphy's lips brush Bell's as he admits, "Alright, maybe I _am_  a little arrogant."

 

Bell grins and pulls him down into his lap, replying, "Me, too."


	16. Perilous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because all we're missing is some teasing smut c: and I always theorised that these two boys would have no problem finding things to do when they're waiting out bad weather

"I t-told you this w-was a b-bad idea," Murphy chatters against Bellamy's chest. Bell frowns, eyebrows knitting together, and he hugs Murphy closer. "N-now we're b-both gonna die in h-here."

 

The younger boy shivers violently, even beneath the thick quilt Bellamy was lucky enough to remember to bring, and with both their shirts off. 

 

An hour earlier, they'd trekked out from Arkadia to scavenge a nearby abandoned mountain village, only to get trapped inside a food storage building by a surprise snow blizzard. The hard packed dirt that serves as a floor isn't the most comfortable or warm place to be in this situation, but with no food in the storage house, there's nowhere else to sit. At least the walls were well-built to keep out the violent, unpredictable weather. 

 

They'd figured it would be over as quickly as it started but they'd been dead wrong. After forty-five minutes of Murphy progressively tremouring harder and harder, and Bellamy watching him in empathetic pain knowing it's unlikely Murphy would let him do anything to help, John finally caved and let Bellamy slip his shirt off and wrap them in an oversized blanket. They've been curled up in the corner for the last twenty-ish minutes with Bell sitting back against the wall and Murphy between his legs, younger man's back to his chest, unfortunately reaping no success in getting Murphy warm.

 

"We're not gonna die in here, you drama queen," Bellamy tightens his arms around Murphy's chest. Buries his face in Murphy's neck and breathes out hot air. He isn't cold, himself, and he almost never is. He's like a space heater, or at least that's what John tells him every time they sleep in the same bed together. It's almost perfect since Murphy is always freezing, anyway, and in this situation, it's what got Murphy to admit defeat and climb into Bell's arms. "Just tell your stupid body to quit being anemic."

 

Murphy's cheek swells with a smirk. He chuckles darkly and replies through trembling teeth, "D-didn't think m-my body was so s-stupid last night, C-Captain."

 

Bellamy smiles against Murphy's skin, closing his eyes and breathing in his scent. 

 

"You got me there, slugger," he murmurs, lips brushing throat. "I think I figured out a way get you warm."

 

"We are n-not having sex on a d-dirt floor," Murphy chides, though he lets his head tilt so that Bellamy has more room to kiss his neck. "Even if we d-do, I'm t-too cold--" 

 

That statement ends in a gasp when Bellamy drags his teeth against Murphy's jaw. 

 

He pulls back and presses his lips to John's ear and whispers, "Please let me make you warm."

 

Murphy sighs dreamily and nods without much more protest. So Bellamy trails his hand downward over John's chest and stomach, keeping his other arm hooked around Murphy's shoulders. His fingertips sneak just beneath the waist of John's pants, eliciting a sound from deep in the young man's throat. 

 

"I'm gonna make you sweat," Bellamy mumbles, lips feathering the hinge of Murphy's jaw. His hand wanders ever lower, slowly sliding John's belt off, unbuttoning the pants, rubbing his dick through the thin fabric of boxer briefs. "Already hard for me, huh?"

 

Murphy's hands squeeze Bell's thigh and twist in his hair, his mouth slowly droops open, his hips come up off the ground. Noises that should never be made by human beings leave his mouth. Nails carve red crescents into Bellamy's neck and he feels himself hardening against Murphy's back, which arches upward. 

 

Best of all though, Murphy's starting to warm up.


	17. Quietus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quietus  
> [kwy-et-us]  
> Noun  
> -release from life; death or something that causes death

He hasn't been able to sleep for several nights. Not for lack of trying. He's done everything he can think of - pillow around the head, turning on music and putting in headphones, blasting a floor fan. Nothing will keep the sound of Bellamy crying out of his ears.

 

So, finally, after a week of this, Murphy decides he's had it. Around midnight, the crying reaches its high point and he slips out of his room, pads down the Ark ring hallway, passing windows made of deep blue galaxy and moonlight, and cracks the door open to Bellamy's bedroom. Quietly, he slides in and closes the door behind him with a soft click.

 

"Bell?" he calls gently across the room to the trembling form on the bed. 

 

Bellamy sniffs and sits up quickly, swiping at his eyes and twisting back to look at Murphy.

 

"What?" He slurs, turning his body around. "What is it?"

 

Murphy strides to the bed and perches on the edge. Bellamy doesn't back away like he used to whenever Murphy got too close. But ever since they left the earth to come back to the ring, leaving Echo's dead body in Becca's bunker and Octavia in the underground safehouse beneath the Polis tower, it seems Bellamy has given up and allowed himself to take comfort from wherever he can get it. 

 

Murphy would never admit it out loud, but he's happy to be that comfort. In fact, he's been wanting to help, though he's thoroughly convinced himself it's just because the sobbing is getting so annoying and maybe he's not worthy of helping since this is really his fault.

 

"I'm fine," Bellamy whispers without waiting to hear what Murphy has to say. So eager to wave off any form of attention, though it's obvious he wants it. "You don't need to be here."

 

"Yeah, well," Murphy looks down at his nervous-hand-riddled lap. "Apparently I do, since you won't shut up."

 

Bellamy's lips seperate in silent surprise.

 

"Sorry," he whispers, wrapping a long arm around his knees. "Didn't mean to bother you."

 

Murphy sighs and throws his head back, flinging his bed-hair out of his eyes. 

 

"Do you want to...talk...or something?" Murphy tries. He's never been one for emotional vulnerability. Apparently, it gets even worse around people he'd like to be fucked by. 

 

He feels Bellamy watching him closely. Blinks up at him. 

 

"Not really," Bell mumbles. His eyes float down to Murphy's hands, linger, back up to his lips, linger. Murphy notices. Tries not to let Bell see that he notices. 

 

"Is there anything I can do?" 

 

Stuffy silence suffocates the ringing in Murphy's ears. He feels the hairs on his back stand at attention. Feels the ring's orbit around the earth where Bellamy's girlfriend died a slow and excruciating death from radiation sickness. They didn't get her back inside in time. Bellamy blames himself. But Murphy thinks the artificial gravity is fucking with his memory. 

 

Because if it hadn't been for Murphy needing help to get the generator back to the bunker, Echo would still be alive. She would never have ripped her suit on the frayed wires. And she would never have spent an extra sixty seconds outside the bunker, slowly being poisoned by the very air she breathed. And Murphy hates himself every day for that. 

 

Bellamy doesn't see it that way. Murphy knows he doesn't see it that way. And it's especially evidenced by the next words that Bellamy says.

 

"Will you stay with me? Just for the night?" Whispered so softly, they're almost imperceptible. But the silence crushing down on Murphy's shoulders makes it hard to breathe and easy to hear. 

 

Those words worm their way past his ear drums and sling themselves around against his skull, until finally, they shoot down into his throat and come back up as a simple, "Yeah."

 

It's an open ended answer. One that implies more than it solves. 

 

But, he supposes as he crawls up to the top of the bed and climbs beneath the covers and wraps his arms around Bellamy's warm, bare waist, this is space. Anything can happen in space.

 

They've got the next five years to pick at everything this could mean. 


	18. Ruthless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *taps fingers together* we all know Murphy is secretly the dom. I will fight about this. I will throw hands. READ MY SMUT.

Murphy grips Bellamy's wrists, bending the taller man's arms behind his back. His curly hair is sweaty and matted down, face red and soaked in lust and ecstasy, though buried in the pillow. His pert ass stands at attention for Murphy, beautiful spine curving elegantly. 

 

They're soaked in sweat and spit and some lube because Murphy isn't evil, just dominant. And he admires how willingly Bellamy gives up control of his entire body to Murphy, like he trusts the younger boy completely. 

 

Murphy delights in the whimpers that come from him teasing the head of his dick against Bellamy's hole. It's all stretched out for him, thanks to Bell's unashamed afternoon masturbation. He still took the time to taunt Bell a bit, himself, using his fingers to massage his prostate and his tongue to make Bellamy beg. 

 

Who couldn't pass up the opportunity to hear those bawdy noises. 

 

Murphy bends down and presses a tender kiss to Bellamy's cheek, then whispers, "Beg for me again."

 

Bellamy's eyebrows string upward and he nods eagerly, so excited to please Murphy. 

 

"What do you want?" Murphy asks as he straightens up. He tightens his hands on Bellamy's wrists, squeezing just past the point of a little painful. Bellamy mewls, back arching. He doesn't answer, so Murphy pushes just the tip of his thrumming cock into Bell's ass and asks again, more demanding this time, "I said, what do you want?"

 

"You, I want you. Fuck, please, Murphy," Bellamy snivels, pushing back against the foreign member breaching his hole. "I want you to fuck me hard, make me scream, please."

 

Murphy gives him what he wants. Always does. 

 

He uses Bellamy's arms to yank him back, effectively shoving his cock deep inside Bell, who lets out an elated moan. 

 

"Go on, golden boy," Murphy commands, stilling again to make clear that he won't be moving unless Bellamy continues to beg. "Keep telling me what you want."

 

Bellamy whines once more and begins to spew pleading requests and blissed-out praise, allowing Murphy to slam into him roughly over and over. 

 

Euphoria overtakes every nerve in Murphy's body as Bellamy's walls clamp down around his dick. Bell comes, calling Murphy's name like he's a god and Bell is but a mere peasant. 

 

The way his voice cracks with rapturous intent, the way his cheeks blotch red, the way he looks bent over just for Murphy - it only takes that sight and Murphy is gone, nails digging into Bellamy's wrists as he shoots his load into Bell's ass.

 

And when he releases the older boy and falls against the mattress beside him, Bellamy sighs and lets his body sink limply into the blankets, eyes closed but lazy smile marring his teeth.

 

Murphy smirks at that - at the satisfied serenity of his boyfriend's languid after-sex demeanour.

 

He brushes the curly pieces of wet hair back from Bell's forehead, examining red-stained cheeks and long eyelashes dotted with joyful tears. 

 

"I love you," Murphy mumbles, thumb tracing the islands of sunset painted across Bell's skin. "You're the most important person in the world to me."

 

Bellamy's eyes slowly open and he grins. Pulls himself closer to share a sleepy kiss. 

 

Then, the insolent little fucker whispers back, hand cupped around Murphy's neck, "I know."

 

Murphy just shakes his head.

 

He's hopelessly in love with an idiot.


	19. Sever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comforting!Murphy is my jam. It's all our jams. If it's not your jam.....that's okay I still love you.

When the radiation from the original bombs first started mutating the dna of what little wildlife survived, there wouldn't have been much noticeable change. But 100 years of radiation moulding those genes into something new entirely will have a much more dangerous effect on animals whose life cycles are short and whose generations are many. 

 

That's why this nest of scorpions is so hazardous - two feet long with venom so toxic that one sting could kill three hundred full grown men within minutes, though it's slow moving and can be stopped if action is taken in time.

 

That's also why, when Bellamy's left foot is stung by a stray baby scorpion, Murphy panics, zones in on only one possible solution, and carries through.

 

The machete cuts neatly through Bellamy's ankle. With his foot now detached and the venom blocked from spreading, they both just breathe heavily in the silence that follows, staring in shock at the dismembered body part. 

 

But then Bellamy's breathing gets shallow and fast as he begins to tremble with dread.

 

Murphy isn't far behind him in frenzy when he spots the enormous cloud of sand, dust, and glass looming in the distance, headed straight for them.

 

Unfortunately, this leaves no time for either of them to recover before Murphy has to yank Bellamy off the ground, throw him over his shoulders, and sprint for the nearest form of cover, which happens to be a nearby cave.

 

Once he's got Bellamy laid out on the ground, he does his best to block off the cave entrance with boulders and overgrown ivy. 

 

Then, with a new sense of urgency, he throws his pack down and removes a flask of clear alcohol, a canteen of water, and a towel.

 

Thinking on his feet, he pulls his belt off and folds it up before gently placing it in Bellamy's mouth and telling him to bite down, warning him it's gonna hurt, but he needs to stop the bleeding. 

 

The alcohol is searingly painful, illustrated by the way Bellamy screams and squirms against Murphy holding his leg down.

 

The younger man continuously apologises, feels the pit in his stomach consuming him as he watches the love of his life sob in agony. 

 

He makes quick work of the site, tearing off a piece of fabric from his shirt, wrapping the injury, then placing the towel over it and taping it down. When he's done, he removes the leather from Bellamy's mouth and replaces it with water.

 

Bellamy's cheeks are red and striped with tears. He cries freely. Murphy supposes there's no point in trying to hide it.

 

These sandstorms can last for hours, so Murphy decides to get them both comfortable. Makeshift pillows made from their packs and a thin blanket meant for emergency hideouts and overnights. Steady stream of Murphy feeding water into Bell's mouth, insisting he needs to drink. Murphy's fingers tucking hair behind Bell's ear and arms wrapping around Bell's shoulders. 

 

He tries to be reassuring but he's almost as upset as Bellamy, which isn't very helpful. He feels useless in situations like this, where he can't figure out how to calm someone down or how to mend the hurt. 

 

But Bellamy clutches at him as though his life depends on it, like if he lets go, he'll explode into flaming nothingness. And Murphy can't blame him.

 

When Bellamy whimpers that he doesn't want to die yet, Murphy shakes his head and holds the man tighter, murmuring that he's not gonna die, he's fine, it'll be okay. He leaves worried kisses on Bell's forehead.

 

They fall asleep in each other's arms.

 

Murphy wakes to the strange soundlessness of ceased flurries. To the sun setting.

 

Silently, he gathers everything, Bellamy included, and carries it all back to Arkadia, where Abby rushes Bell into the emergency room. They close the wound properly and fit Bellamy for a prosthetic. 

 

Murphy falls asleep in a chair pulled up next to Bellamy's bed, grasping Bellamy's hand. 

 

He dreams of Bellamy sobbing as he fractures into dust and gets swept away into the merciless winds.


	20. Twigs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I just can't stop myself. This is literally so cute I could cry. Seriously, reading over it to edit made me tear up, it's so realistic like this could've actually happened like oh my god like please like make Murphamy a thing like dEAR GOD OKay I'm done (no I'm not)

Murphy growls at his fifth failed attempt to start a fire, chucks the branches at the ground, crosses his arms, and flops down against a tree.

 

Bellamy purses his lips inward so as not to laugh at the mini-tantrum. Murphy had so insisted on starting the fire and had refused any and all assistance, and is now obviously trying to hide the embarrassment with anger. 

 

Bellamy crouches in front of him, spreads his hand out on Murphy's cheek, smiling apologetically.

 

" _Now_  will you let me do it?"

 

Murphy rolls his eyes but nods resentfully. 

 

Bellamy has no trouble sparking a flame with a piece of flint and a dry stick. He works the flame into a small fire before retreating back to Murphy and taking a seat beside him.

 

"Hey," he brushes a finger over Murphy's neck to get his attention. "It's okay, John. Not everyone is going to get it all right on the first try. None of us have ever been to Earth before. Don't get so down on yourself, okay?"

 

Murphy's features soften, head lowering. He nods again, this time gratefully. 

 

Bellamy uses a finger to tilt Murphy's chin up and pull him in for a gentle, reassuring kiss.

 

"We're all just surviving for now," Bellamy whispers. "And after that, it's you and me against the world."

 

Murphy grins.

 

It shines brighter than any fire that Bellamy could start.


	21. Undecided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're unsure about how you feel for someone and beating them up doesn't go as planned

Bellamy curls his fist into Murphy's shirt and throws him to the ground. He delivers punch after punch, losing himself in the violence, believing Murphy deserves it. For killing all those people by coming back with an unknown virus. For coming back at all. For defying his direct orders time after time.

 

Murphy doesn't fight back. It takes Bellamy some time to realise that. All Murphy does is whisper Bellamy's name between hits. As though saying his name will bring him back from the darkest corners of his mind.

 

Then in an instance, Bellamy sitting on top of Murphy with his fist raised to punch him again, and Murphy's arms out in front of his face preparing to take another blow, Bellamy remembers himself. Uncurls his fist. Scrambles to a stand and walks away silently. Panic consumes him. He runs.

 

Murphy finds him two hours later out in the forest, where he's leaned himself against a tree, hitting his head against it whenever he thinks of all the pain he's inflicted. Not just on Murphy, but on everyone. His closest friends, his sister. Bile creeps up his throat.

 

He hears Murphy coming, snap of twigs and crunch of dead leaves giving away the familiar gait. And still, Murphy says nothing. Just stops beside Bellamy and stands there silently. Is he unsure what to say? Is he waiting for Bellamy to say something first?

 

All Bellamy can think to mumble is, "Leave me alone, Murphy."

 

Probably not the best thing to say to the person you just beat up. 

 

Instead of retreating footsteps, Bellamy hears Murphy's knee crack as he kneels on the ground beside Bell.

 

Bellamy opens his eyes slowly, still not looking at Murphy, and whispers, "What the fuck do you want from me?" 

 

It sounds more like a plea for mercy than a harsh demand. He feels defeated. Empty. 

 

After a moment of still silence, Murphy stands back up and, without a word, starts to walk away.

 

Of its own accord, Bellamy's hand shoots out and grabs Murphy's arm to stop him.

 

Weakly, his graveled voice speaks, "Wait." When he's sure Murphy isn't going anywhere, he finally lets their eyes meet. "Don't go. I'm sorry."

 

With a sort of dream-like smoothness, Murphy crouches next to him and murmurs, "I know."

 

"Can you forgive me?" It's a lot to ask. But Bellamy has never been one to give up before trying. Nor has he ever coveted forgiveness so achingly.

 

Murphy's lips part but no noise escapes. Then, in a blur of clutching hands and tugging arms, their lips are sliding together. Murphy kisses him so gently it's almost maddening. 

 

Because Bellamy doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve him. Doesn't deserve this kind of forgiveness. But he asked for it anyway and he's being given it anyway. 

 

And it's turning feverish, tongues melding, fingers kneading, Murphy's legs moving to bracket Bell's hips, lungs heaving, coppery taste of blood in Bellamy's cheeks.

 

And when Murphy pulls back with sober grey eyes and swollen pink lips that leak red in places where Bellamy's fist met his skin, he looks all of his true age, just a seventeen year old boy who's as scared as anyone else and just as unsure of his future here. And suddenly, Bellamy feels all that grief, that heartbreak, that anguish barreling down on him, crushing his heart and closing his throat, and he lets it. He lets that feeling wash over him. Lets himself feel the uncertainty, the terror that for weeks he's been hiding from.

 

But now, with John in his lap, sure arms wrapped around him, and tender lips working his mouth open, he also knows that he can bear it all, even if just for this one, single boy that he can't ever let himself hurt again. 


	22. Volatile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost losing the love of your life is traumatic

A pit of nuclear acid. How much more cliche can this damn planet get. 

 

Somehow, even though it's Bellamy and Murphy against one grounder, the grounder is still winning. 

 

It uses insanely copious amounts of strength to fling Murphy across the ground. He skids against the dirt and Bellamy can do nothing to stop him from dropping over the pit of acid. He barely catches himself, but he's shit out of luck to pull himself up with just one hand. 

 

Seeing Murphy's life in such violent danger makes something snap in Bellamy. He screams and charges the grounder, throwing it back against the jagged wall of the cliff with his full weight. Its head makes a sickening crack against a particularly sharp edge and it falls limply to the dirt. It doesn't get back up.

 

Bellamy scurries over to the edge of the acid pit and grabs Murphy by the wrists. He grunts as he pulls Murphy up to safety.

 

The other boy scrabbles at the smooth wall of the pit but eventually finds his footing and helps to climb up. The combined force of both of them pulling him out launches the younger boy straight into Bellamy, which knocks them both to the ground with Murphy landing on top.

 

They don't move, simply trying to catch their breath. 

 

"I just almost died," Murphy pants, head limp against Bellamy's chest. 

 

Bell closes his arms around Murphy's waist and holds him there. He thinks he never wants to let go.

 

"Don't ever do that to me again," Bellamy commands, eyes falling closed. He commits to memory the scent of Murphy's hair and the shape of his body and how it fits against his own. Lets out a crackling, shaky breath and repeats, "Don't ever do that again."

 

Murphy seems to think for a second, then replies, voice small and grateful, "I won't."

 

Bellamy can't think about what this horrible place would be like without him.


	23. Wrick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrick  
> [rik]  
> Noun  
> -a strain, twist, or sprain, particularly in the muscles or joints
> 
> Imagine: sweaty Murphy, just done with a workout, making out with Bellamy....I mean, really, this HAD to be written, c'mon

Bellamy watches from the doorway, leaned against the frame with arms crossed, as Murphy spinkicks and punches and ducks at one of the punching bags hanging from the ceiling. His hands are taped up and bloody, and he shimmers with sweat. He's been in here all day. 

 

He hasn't noticed Bellamy watching him. Which is probably okay, considering how much Bellamy is enjoying doing so. 

 

Murphy is nimble and agile, quick with a small, wiry frame, but he's got some bulk too. Bellamy never noticed it through Murphy's shirts, but there's definitely some muscle there. The way it flinches and twists with each movement is enthralling. 

 

Bellamy is shaken from his thoughts by a particularly crooked punch to the bag that Murphy springs back from. He holds his arm to his side and hisses in pain, walking away from the bag.

 

"Fuckin' work," Murphy's mutter barely reaches Bell from across the room.

 

He finally decides to step into the space.

 

"You okay?" Bellamy inquires, shuffling slowly over to Murphy who's aggressively unwrapping the tape from his knuckles.

 

Murphy turns around with one raised brow but not much more surprise.

 

He mumbles, "'M fine."

 

Liar.

 

"You sure? Looked pretty bad from where I was standing," Bellamy replies, stopping short of within three feet of Murphy's space.

 

"Yeah, Bell, I got it," Murphy sighs, irritated. 

 

Bellamy shakes his head, steps closer, and places a hand on Murphy's bare shoulder.

 

"Seriously, Murph," Bellamy insists. "That was a really bad one. You probably sprained something."

 

Murphy is paused, working his jaw, eyes trained on his hands. Then he huffs and shrugs the undamaged shoulder.

 

"Fine," he cedes, finishing unraveling the tape on one hand. "But I'm gonna tell everyone how much of a dumbass you are when you find nothing wrong."

 

Bellamy gives him a reprimanding glare and, despite still not meeting his eyes, Murphy's lips bloom a satisfied smirk.

 

"Okay, turn this way," Bellamy directs him so Murphy's back is to his chest with his right arm straight out to the side at shoulder level. He wraps one hand around the other shoulder and rests his right hand on Murphy's right collarbone. "Move your arm out in front of you as far as you can."

 

Murphy complies and about halfway to having his arm directly in front of him, he grunts and grimaces.

 

"Nothing wrong, huh?" 

 

"Yeah, whatever," Murphy says quickly, sides of his face glowing red.

 

"Does this mean I get to tell everyone you're a dumbass for not taking a break from training?" Bellamy lets a little smile grace his lips and has Murphy raise his arm above his head.

 

"Hardee-har-har," Murphy laughs sarcastically, but lets Bellamy move him around. Then, after a moment of strained quiet, he whispers, "I know I've been working myself pretty hard, but...it's my escape."

 

Bellamy nods somberly, knowing full well Murphy can't see him. But he really does understand. 

 

The ground has not treated them well. From the very beginning they've been subjected to things no teenager should ever have to live through. And they've been given no breaks, no comfort or help. It's just one thing after another and at some points, Bellamy finds himself unable to keep up. Sometimes, he finds cliffs overhanging deep enough water and goes jumping - over and over again, until his skin is red from hitting the water and his legs are sore from climbing back up to the cliff and he's out of breath so completely that he's heaving in leaves from the trees. He gets it.

 

"Okay, you sprained your shoulder. You need a sling, but knowing you, you'll probably skip it and act like everything is fine, so I'm gonna go the less desirable route and," Bellamy pauses and, without warning, shoves Murphy's shoulder back into place with a grunt, then continues, "just do that."

 

Murphy takes a sharp gasp in, slows his breathing for a second, cradling his arm, then turns around and shoots Bellamy a furious glance. 

 

"Thanks," Murphy snarls, sounding less than grateful. 

 

Bellamy half-smiles at the other boy's temper.

 

"You seem relaxed," he points out, probably obvious. Then he nods curtly and adds, "I think I like this Murphy."

 

"Really? Not a fan of asshole Murphy? Oh, wait, that's just regular Murphy, isn't it?" John sneers playfully. 

 

"Aaaaand he's back."

 

Murphy actually chuckles at that, still rubbing the cap of his shoulder.

 

They stand in a tense silence for a moment as Murphy begins undoing the tape on the other hand. Bellamy isn't sure if he should walk away. He doesn't necessarily want to. He can't tell if Murphy wants him to.

 

Just as he cumulates the strength to do so, Murphy opens his mouth and inhales, like he wants to say something.

 

It takes him a second, but eventually, he stutters, "Uh, h-hey, Bellamy?" He waits until Bellamy looks up at him. Their eyes meet and Murphy seems to momentarily lose his train of thought. "I...well..." Then he grits out quickly, "Thank you. For, y'know..." points at his shoulder, "helping with this."

 

Bellamy nods a welcome and begins to turn to walk away. He feels Murphy's eyes on him. There's an uncertain rubber band of restlessness between them that stretches taut as Bellamy tries to leave. It transforms into Murphy's hand grabbing his wrist.

 

"Wait, Bell," Murphy's voice comes softly, anxiously. Bellamy can feel the sparks popping against his skin, the claw flipping his stomach like meat on a grill, monster slobbering and ready to consume him with its tongue made of fear. Bellamy turns back around and examines where Murphy's flesh touches his. Murphy lets out a croaked noise and drops his arm. Licks his lips and clears his throat. "I...I was, uh..." He sighs tiredly, shaking his head in disappointment. Lowers his eyes again so Bell can't catch his gaze. Then, slowly, "Listen, I've been thinking. Um....mostly about you. It seems like I might...like you in a way I didn't know I could." He takes in a huge gulp of air and pushes it out shakily. "Could I maybe...I don't know, like, take you...on a..." 

 

The last word is mumbled so Bellamy can't hear it. He marries his brows and tries to get Murphy to look at him. The younger boy chews his lip, still refusing to make eye contact. 

 

"Sorry, I didn't get that last part," Bellamy tries. He gets closer. Maybe a mistake, judging by how brightly Murphy's face lights up. "What did you say?"

 

Murphy fiddles his fingers, glances around the room, takes in another rattling breath. Swallows hard.

 

"Can I take you...on a date?" he repeats, more clearly this time.

 

Bellamy is taken aback by the request. It's completely unexpected, seemingly random. He had no idea Murphy felt that way about him. And if Murphy had been trying to show it, Bellamy never caught on.

 

"I..." Bellamy is too stunned to use words right now. But Murphy's face is slowly sinking with defeat so Bell decides to do what any rational adult would do.

 

Bellamy grabs his face and kisses him.

 

Murphy makes a surprised sound, but quickly relaxes into Bellamy's lips, letting himself be pulled by the waist against Bellamy's chest.

 

It's a kiss that's sort of sloppy but as far as first kisses go, Bellamy doesn't think he's ever felt the normalcy he feels with this one. It's like they've kissed before, like they were meant to fit together like this. Like they've known each other forever. It's a new feeling, but somehow familiar.

 

Of course, though, he has to laugh when he pulls back and Murphy asks, "Does that mean yes?"

 

Bellamy grins, brushing a thumb back over Murphy's cheek.

 

He nods. 

 

"Yeah, I suppose it does."


	24. Xylene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: self harm
> 
> Xylene is a highly flammable and explosive compound often used in movie explosions. Long story short, don't ever let drunk Bellamy near Raven's science-y stuff because he DOES NOT know what any of these things are and he WILL fuck with all of it.

Murphy never expected to find Bellamy in the ring's lab, especially since Raven explicitly told them it was off limits to anyone but herself and Monty, unless they were supervised. 

 

But here he is, playing with vials and beakers of unfamiliar bubbling liquids.

 

"What the fuck are you doing, you idiot," Murphy rushes across the room to stop him from grabbing at anything else. 

 

But before he can reach him, Bellamy's drunken mixing explodes - literally.

 

A small boom echoes through the room as several glass containers splinter outward and fall to the ground and the tables. 

 

Bellamy, the stupid idiot, just laughs. 

 

"Fuck, you dumbass, Raven's gonna murder you," Murphy growls, pulling Bellamy up. He rushes the giggling giraffe from the lab and down the hallway to his room, all the while grumbling at him to keep quiet. "Why are you like this?"

 

When he finally gets Bellamy to plop down into bed, the older man stops him from leaving by grabbing his arm as he turns around to go.

 

"John," the name rolling from Bellamy's lips is almost jarring. He hasn't heard anyone call him that in a while. And never in such a pleading way. "Don't leave."

 

Murphy sighs, but complies, turning back around and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He folds his hands in his cross-legged lap and stares at Bellamy.

 

"You're gonna get yourself killed," he whispers, knowing full well the message won't get across through the haze of alcohol. 

 

But Bellamy sits up, eyes suddenly sober, and he replies with grim fright, "What if I'm trying to?" Murphy's heart drops into a growing pit clawing at his stomach. "I'm scared. I don't wanna be here, Murph. I don't wanna be up here again. I just need something to distract me. Nothing's worked." He drops his gaze to his hands. Fingers the edge of his long sleeve. Pulls the sleeve up. Murphy's mouth falls open and he sits up straighter. "I even tried this. Just to feel anything other than scared." He shakes his head as tears swell in his eyes and dribble down his face. "I feel so lost."

 

Murphy grabs Bell's arm and tugs the shirt sleeve down over the twenty or so self-inflicted cuts. Gulps away his horror. 

 

"You can't do that to yourself," Murphy says quickly and plainly, as if it weren't obvious. He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly, calming himself, softening his ragged voice. "Please don't do that to yourself."

 

Flashbacks of his own adolescent years creep out from the back corners of his mind, dark and threatening. The white scars marring his own body, his hips and thighs and stomach, haunt him. The memory of bright red blood beading along thin lines, of those thin lines getting deeper and deeper, of the blood spilling freely from wide wounds that probably needed stitches. He did it for a different reason, but somehow he still understands. 

 

"I'm sorry, John," Bellamy blinks the blurry water from his eyes, lip trembling. "I'm so sorry that I...I can't..." He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head into his hands. His next words come muffled and slurred, "I don't want you leave. Please?"

 

Murphy lowers his brows emphatically and shakes his head.

 

"I'm not going to, Bell. I'm right here."

 

Bellamy's hands fall from his eyes. He sniffles, tugging Murphy upward to the top of the bed. He gets the message. Crawls to the space beside Bellamy and slides himself beneath the comforter and curls up, chest to chest, with the other man, faces so close he can taste the rum that Bell breathes out. 

 

"I'm not going anywhere," he repeats, hand coming up to cup Bell's cheek. "I'm right here."

 

Bellamy nods, tucking himself beneath Murphy's chin.

 

They drift off in each other's arms

 

\--

 

"Murphy!" Raven yells from down the hallway.

 

Her voice carries shrill and clear into Murphy's room, slingshotting Murphy into the waking world. 

 

Bellamy mutters with a voice full of sleep, "What the fuck?"

 

Murphy sits up just as the door opens and Raven storms in holding up a half broken beaker.

 

"What the hell happened to my xylene--"

 

She stops short, noticing Bellamy rubbing his eyes in the bed beside Murphy.

 

A mild and suspiciously unsurprised "oh" is the only reaction the sight garners from her. 

 

"Bellamy got plastered last night," Murphy grunts, pushing himself up so his feet touch the floor and combing his fingers back through his hair. "I had to drag him out of your lab by the ear. You should probably keep it locked up, sunshine."

 

Raven snarls at him but softens again quickly. She knows just as well as the rest of them that Bellamy has been a mess since leaving his sister on Earth. 

 

"I do keep it locked."

 

"Obviously not well enough to keep out a drunk idiot," Murphy smiles sarcastically, then sighs. "Look, just find a better way to lock it up. I can keep an eye on him from now on. I don't mind babysitting."

 

Raven hesitates, but nods gratefully. 

 

She leaves and they're alone again. 

 

From behind Murphy comes Bellamy's sore voice, hiding in the shadows of his teeth, "Am I really that bad?"

 

Murphy pivots his head to look at him. Through the window, the relentless sun drenches the bed in syrupy light, setting Bell's hazel eyes ablaze. 

 

"No," Murphy whispers, leaning back to stare down his nose at the wrinkles in his shirt. "No you're not. You're just...hurting. Sometimes people who hurt make bad decisions." His voice cracks with heavy recognition. Murphy twists back and pulls his legs back up on the bed. Picks up Bell's hand and watches their fingers lace together. So natural, as if they've been holding hands for years. "But I've got you."

 

Bellamy is quiet. Murphy feels his eyes boring holes in his forehead. He can't meet the other's gaze.

 

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

 

Murphy can't answer that. At least, he can't give an answer that he knows for sure is the truth. Because even he doesn't understand the things he feels. But that's pretty normal for him.

 

So, simply, he replies, "Like I said. You're not so bad."

 

He finally looks up.

 

Bellamy is blushing. 

 

Not so bad at all.


	25. Yonderly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yonderly  
> [yawn-dur-lee]  
> Adjective  
> -absent minded, vacant, or mentally distant

Ever since leaving the earth to return to the ring, each of them has had their emotional issues. Most have been solved. 

 

Raven's moved past Finn's death. Monty finished mourning Jasper and focused on Harper, who helps keep Jasper's spirit alive. Emori has buried herself in learning about space and the ship and Ark history. Echo has been learning to live without her sharp weapons and spending most of her time watching the earth from the windows. 

 

As for Murphy, he's been trying to find ways to be a hero again. The only time he's ever felt useful. Needed. He hasn't felt that in a long time. He wants to feel it again. The loss of that feeling is what he's been lamenting. 

 

But there are no heroes in space. Because there's no need for heroes in space.

 

Except for one thing: Bellamy Blake. The prince gone mad. The Golden Boy of Company A with the perfect plan for everything. Now all he does is mope. 

 

He tries putting on a brave face, and for the most part, it works. The others still believe he's the same man he once was, even if dubiously. But not Murphy.

 

Murphy sees right through that thin veil of serenity and into the dark and broken corners of Bellamy's heart. 

 

And, if he's honest, most days, he finds himself feeling bad for that tragically beautiful, heartbroken mess. 

 

So when he finds Bellamy slow dancing with himself in the abandoned church room to an enchanting tune, it markedly worries him. Has the curly-haired angel lost his marbles?

 

Murphy stands sheepishly in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes attentive. Bellamy sweeps around the room with his arms out, as though holding a dance partner, eyes closed. He has the most imperceptible smile engraved in his lips and he's wearing a modest black t-shirt with a pair of dark, fitted jeans. He looks comfortable. Almost happy.

 

"Hey, crazy," Murphy decides to finally alert Bellamy of his presence. But maybe Bellamy knew he was there because the man continues to twirl around the room to the rhythmic string quintet. Or maybe he didn't hear Murphy. "What are you doing?"

 

The melody simmers out and comes to an end and Bellamy opens his eyes, facing Murphy as his smile brightens and his eyes glimmer. He holds out a warm, inviting hand.

 

"Come dance with me," he requests simply, as if the offer is an every-day affair.

 

Murphy's fingertips tingle like fireworks are exploding against his skin. His legs won't respond to his command at first. He remains frozen in place, wondering why he's so keen to play dance partner. 

 

When he imagines the feeling of being a hero, of being _Bellamy's_  hero, the lead planting Murphy's feet to the ground melts away. As the next song begins, he steps forward without a word and slides his hand into Bellamy's. It's calloused but soft, deft, careful. Comfortable, homey, familiar. Like a lived in carpet or a favourite knit sweater.

 

Bellamy pulls him in by the waist as he places Murphy's arms around his neck. Slick, knowledgeable. Like he's done this before.

 

Murphy dares to meet his eyes, which are tired and splintered like his own. 

 

As Bellamy shifts him around the room slowly, gracefully, the music pours from the ceiling with a sorrowful pitch. Murphy vaguely recognises it as Frédéric Chopin's Raindrop Prelude. It's a dewy, cloudy hymn made of high, choppy piano notes and blue waves of finality. 

 

Somehow, though the music carries through every orifice, every nook and cranny, Bellamy's voice still stands out above the bereaving cry.

 

"This is the song I taught Octavia to dance to," he mumbles. His words are a haunting harmony. "Sometimes, when I miss her, I come here and pretend I'm dancing with her again. Pretend the universe played this all out differently. Pretend we didn't have to say goodbye the way we did."

 

The words, though spoken in shadow, are harsh and aching. Murphy feels every breath that's been stolen. And then somehow, something in him flickers off. Some light somewhere shatters and plunges into darkness his desire to be a hero. He doesn't want to be a hero; at least, he doesn't want to be a hero for the reason he used to. No longer to chase the feeling of being needed. Nobody here needs a hero. Nobody needs saving. 

 

Bellamy needs understanding. Empathy. Murphy's never been too good at that. But in this moment, as Bellamy holds his gaze with that exuberant half-smile, and the sun rays cut through the transluscent white curtains and soak the church stage in mid-evening light, Murphy feels a peculiar twinge of longing. 

 

Berceuse in D-Flat Major floats into the air around them. 

 

"What will you do when we get back down there?" Murphy wonders, allowing himself to be spun. When he's wrapped back up in Bellamy's sure arms, he adds, "I mean, will you try to find her?"

 

Bellamy's smile turns doleful and he shakes his head slowly.

 

"Can I be honest?"

 

"Of course," Murphy frowns. He supposes he hasn't been the most trustworthy companion.

 

"I don't think she survived," Bellamy whispers, voice cracking with the tears that threaten to build in the corners of his eyes. "I think we're all that's left."

 

Murphy breathes out a bitter chuckle. 

 

"How ironic," he replies. He adjusts his hand on Bellamy's neck. "A single scientist who's married to her work, a pothead obsessed with algae and his diseased girlfriend, a mutant thief, a violent grounder with no control over her emotions, a crazy guy, and a criminal." Bellamy's eyebrows tighten. Why did Murphy have to run his big mouth? Quickly, he adds, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you crazy. That's not fair."

 

The silence that greets him as they slow to a halt is nauseating. He wants to run. He wants to break the glass and be sucked out into the empty nothingness of space. He wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He wants...he doesn't know what he wants. He doesn't know why he said that. Why does he always say terrible things? 

 

"John," Bellamy shakes him from his reverie with a gentle hand on his chin, making Murphy look at him. His hardened eyes fade to a tender pity. Murphy hates pity. "You're worth so much more than you think."

 

"Don't look at me that way," Murphy demands, tugging his face away. He has yet to drop his arms and back up, but he feels so...wanted. 

 

"What? What do you mean? What way?"

 

"That way," Murphy snaps, finally yanking away from the taller man with half regret, half contempt drowning his heart. "Like I'm a lost puppy. I don't need to be fixed, Bell. I don't need your pity."

 

Bellamy simply stares at him for what seems like eternity. A flustered shock weaves between the breaths they take. 

 

Claude Debussy's Suite Bergamasque, L. 75 III blankets its filmy, somber sound across their shoulders. Quick fingers on a piano and a pensive flurry of notes.

 

"John, I..." Bellamy stumbles, mouth moving but unable to find the words. "I don't pity you." It'll take more than that to convince Murphy. Bellamy strides toward him and places heavy hands on his waist. "Hey, look at me." Murphy does. Reluctantly. "I don't pity you. I don't think you need to be fixed. Murphy, you're not broken. You've been put through so much. If I'm sorry for anything, I'm sorry for being part of the bad things you experienced on Earth. And I'm sorry I made you feel pitied. I don't want that. I think you're strong. I feel terrible that I'm so bad at helping people."

 

Murphy's eyes shimmer up at the golden boy. Abruptly, he sees this man in a different light - no longer a martyr with a god-complex, or a power-hungry know-it-all. He's just a fractured kid. Just like Murphy. Just like everyone else here. Just like every single teenager sent to the ground. 

 

"You help people all the time," Murphy states plainly. It's true. In fact, it's almost all he ever does, is help people. Murphy can't find traction in the idea that Bellamy thinks he's bad at helping. "Just because you're good at hurting doesn't mean you're bad at healing."

 

Bellamy considers this, eyes shining, switching between Murphy's. Something about the way he surveys every feature in Murphy's face, from the straight nose that Murphy has always hated, to the high cheekbones, to the deepset eyes and uneven lips. Something about it feels...enticing. Feels like Bellamy's meant to look at him this way. With this sense of possession and belonging and compassion.

 

"Can I ask you something?" Bellamy inquires, voice so soft it takes Murphy aback. 

 

Murphy's heart races, pounding out a tune in his chest that matches the Chopin's Nocturnes spilling from the speakers. 

 

"Shoot," Murphy answers. Somehow, his hands made their way back up to Bellamy's neck without Murphy noticing. Not that anybody seems to mind.

 

"Would you be mad if I kissed you right now?" 

 

The question is a blow to the gut, leaving Murphy with lungs replaced by the vacuum of the cosmos, and a heart coloured to match. 

 

Slowly, quietly, he replies, "No."

 

So with that, Bellamy combs a hand back through Murphy's newly cut hair, around to the back of his head, where the pressure of it draws Murphy forward. 

 

Their chests are flush, heartbeats thrumming in unison.

 

As Debussy's La Plus Que Lente reaches its peak, their lips brush timidly. Pull back. Touch again, more assured this time. A soft breath in, hands tugging, and kiss deepening. 

 

It's drowsy, gradually building, languid like a lazy afternoon with a book. Gentle and caressing. Sort of like flying, soaring between stars and tearing holes in the black sky to write their own story. 

 

And most of all, it makes Murphy feel needed.


	26. Zol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE CHECK NOTES AT THE END
> 
> Zol  
> [zole]  
> Noun  
> -a hand rolled cannabis cigarette
> 
> If you've been reading my stuff for a while, you already know I can't resist the temptation of high sex.

Murphy is great at rolling joints. Like, really great. He's also great at being inexplicably attractive. Like, so attractive that Bellamy can't keep himself from gravitating closer. 

 

The room is misty with smoke. The hallways have been quiet all afternoon. They both needed this escape. Not much to do in space.

 

Which may be why Bellamy is particularly interested in watching Murphy's lips as he speaks right now.

 

Oh, right. Murphy was telling him something.

 

"Wait, what?" Bellamy blinks slowly, head buzzing. Everything is fuzzy and warm. He feels nice.

 

Murphy stares at him blankly for a moment then bursts out laughing. Bellamy doesn't know what's funny, but he finds himself laughing, too. 

 

"How high are you right now?" Murphy chortles, throwing his head back against the wall he's sat up against.

 

Wait, when and how did how they get on the bed? Who's room are they even in?

 

"I don't know," Bellamy answers slowly, squinting at the wall across the room, which is suddenly very interesting. "I haven't felt this good since last time I got high."

 

Murphy laughs again. Bellamy can't remember what he said that would cause that noise to happen. He can't complain. Murphy's laugh is a nice noise. He likes it. It makes him feel all shiny. He decides he should tell Murphy about this appreciation.

 

"Your laugh is so nice," he comments lightly. His head is overgrown with ivy. Parts of his brain he hasn't used in years are being brushed off and poked at. "You have a really nice laugh. And nice teeth. Your whole face is just really nice." His eyes widen and he turns to Murphy with urgency, grabbing his shoulders. "Murphy. I'm so sorry I tried to kill you that one time. You're so great, why would I do that to you?"

 

"Bellamy, Bellamy," Murphy grabs him back, arms hooking up around his shoulders. "It's okay. It's okay. I was such an ass. I totally deserved it."

 

"No, listen, no. You didn't, Murphy," Bellamy gets very serious, catching Murphy's gaze. His head is so fuzzy. It's telling him to get closer again. "You didn't deserve that, understand? That shouldn't have ever happened. I wish it didn't."

 

Murphy furrows his eyebrows, eyes blinking downward. He seems to think for a moment. Cuts his gaze back upward. 

 

"Bellamy, I have secret."

 

The older man makes his eyes big and his mouth falls open in genuine surprise. 

 

"Are you sure you wanna tell me?"

 

Murphy nods somberly. Takes a deep breath. It reminds Bellamy that he's breathing. Momentarily, he panics that his automatic systems controlling his breathing aren't working. Worries about being able to keep up with manual breathing. 

 

"I'm in love with you," Murphy says simply. Short and sweet. Nothing to prepare Bellamy for the hazy shock of the statement. 

 

"What?" He whispers, switching rapidly between Murphy's eyes, trying to find purchase on the slippery slope of being so close. 

 

"I have been for a while," Murphy admits. Then he waits again for Bellamy's response. 

 

"John..." Bellamy sounds softly, suddenly pushing his way through the daze of weed. He feels himself surface briefly. Every emotion possible rushes at him all at once. The weight of this revelation pulls him back down into the fog of highness. 

 

"I just...I thought I should tell you while I have the nerve to. Because I know when this is over, I won't be able to. I don't expect you to do anything ab--"

 

Bellamy cradles Murphy's lips with his own. His mouth isn't dry anymore. It feels heavenly to close his eyes. Even moreso to push his lips between Murphy's, to press the younger man back into the blankets, tongues tangling, to fling shirts off and feel the spark when their bare skin touches, to have Murphy grinding his hips upward.

 

Shit, he's hard. He didn't know his body could even do that while he's high. Bellamy's NEVER had a hard-on while high. Is this even actually happening?

 

Murphy shoving his hands down the back of Bell's sweatpants and sinking his fingers into Bell's asscheeks certainly feels real enough. Murphy swallowing his moan definitely seems real. Murphy whining when Bellamy sprinkles wet kisses down his throat and across his collarbone and between his pecs certainly sounds real. Murphy gasping when Bellamy nips at the creamy, pale skin just below his bellybutton sure tastes real. The thin fabric of grey sweats between Bellamy's mouth and Murphy's dick is surely real. 

 

Murphy's hips come up off the bed, his hands fist the sheets at his side. Bell lets his tongue trace below the waistband. It runs over something hard and bitter. 

 

Holy fuck. Murphy's dick, peeking out just above the waistband. It makes the younger man keen upward. 

 

Without hesitation, Bellamy pulls those stupid pants off and tosses them across the room. They knock something off the top of the dresser but neither of them are present enough to care. 

 

Bell scoots up between Murphy's thighs, crooking the young man's legs over his shoulders. His tongue finds Murphy's entrance and slicks over it, testing. Murphy's panting is answer enough. 

 

Bellamy slides his tongue and a finger in, soaking up each sound and movement that Murphy makes. His own cock strains against the constricting eleastic of his sweats. He shoves them down with a groan and rubs himself against the rough fabric of the sheets. 

 

Everything feels fucking glorious. Everything is bright and soft and nice. The insides of Murphy's thighs squeezing his head feels like a hug. A dirty hug. 

 

In goes another finger, out comes his tongue so he can hobble back up and ask if Murphy has lube. Absently, Murphy nods and slurs something about the bedside table's bottom drawer.

 

Bellamy hastily snatches the bottle from the drawer and pours some on his fingers on an outstroke. They slide back in much more easily. And much deeper. Murphy yelps and clings to Bellamy's other arm, gyrating down against the fingers. 

 

"Right there right there right there," Murphy slews out in an almost indecipherable string of blissed out begging. His toes curl under themselves, his head tilts back into the bed.

 

Bellamy feels a warmth in the bottom of his stomach at the sight. 

 

Suddenly, Murphy pushes Bell's hand away and crawls over to him, with some difficulty. The bed isn't exactly the most stable surface and they're both still VERY high. Maybe that's why Bellamy can only stare in awe as Murphy makes him sit back and then climbs into his lap, dribbles the lube everywhere, and promptly sinks down into Bellamy's cock with a jaw stuck open and fingers tugging at Bell's hair.

 

Naturally, Bellamy bucks up into the warmth and shoots upward to capture Murphy's lips with his own. Their moans are muffled by each other's mouths, but the bed creaks anyway, totally ignoring their probably already failed attempt to keep quiet.

 

But the real slice of pie comes when Murphy does. 

 

All. Over. Bellamy's. Chest. He trembles like a damn earthquake, grating down against Bellamy's dick with fervid enthusiasm and choking out a short, "Bell!"

 

He holds onto Bellamy for dear life as he unravels. It's one of the most amazing things Bellamy has ever had the opportunity to watch. 

 

A new urgency sweeps over him and he fucks up roughly into Murphy, holding him down by the hips. It seems to knock the air from Murphy's lungs. He keels over, mouth moving to form words but no noise escaping. 

 

The younger man's second orgasm is what does it - Bellamy breathes out Murphy's name, soft as a prayer and just as easy, as he comes inside Murphy's ass. 

 

They collapse against each other, sated and exhausted.

 

And hungry.

 

After a short, giggly run to the kitchen for grilled cheese, and a good five minutes of slobbering on each other's mouths, they pass out, clutching each other close.

 

Raven finds them the next morning and rolls her eyes. She'll never be able to get the smell of weed out of there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay I guess I'm way more sleep deprived than I previously thought - I completely skipped the letter W. Please be patient as I type that one out. I'll get it to y'all tomorrow, I promise.


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